


31 Days in the Darklands

by Stories_from_Unicron



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Slice of Life, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Strickmar - Freeform, Toby is a Gumm-Gumm whisperer, Unintentional Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2020-07-12 11:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 83,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stories_from_Unicron/pseuds/Stories_from_Unicron
Summary: 31 chapters revolving around an alternate universe where an uneasy Armestice has been forged between the Gumm-Gumms, Changelings, and Trollmarket. All thanks to a secret, political marriage between Strickler and Gunmar. Between dating the Trollhunters mother, keeping the reintegrated changelings happy and trying to prevent Toby from teaching Gunmar memes, Strickler may find that two faces are the least he'll have to manage if he wants to keep the peace. Canon Divergent after early Season 2.





	1. Marital Exposition

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Towers of Ilium](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768295) by [Stories_from_Unicron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stories_from_Unicron/pseuds/Stories_from_Unicron). 



Strickler murmured in his sleep, pulling the blankets closer. Somehow, he'd managed once again to roll out of bed onto the ground, and the chill of the Darklands bit at him with icicle teeth. 

Grumbling, he crawled back toward the nest he shared with his mate. No mattress, pillows, or headboard, just a pit near the cavern wall, overflowing with a massive pile of animal furs. Bearskin, buckskin, patchwork blankets made from cats. A far cry from the memory foam and egyptian cotton he slept on at home, but at least it was warm. 

"Move over. You've pushed me out again." Strickler wasn't afraid to demand his share of the bed. In the Darklands, you took what you needed to survive, or you didn't. 

He let himself flop over, but instead of warm stone hide, he found himself rolling toward the center of the empty furs. 

Gunmar was gone.

Strickler debated for a moment then gave a shrug and burrowed deeper into the bedfurs.

"More for me, then." He sighed; resisting the urge to curl up like a cat. There was a very primitive pleasure to be found at the bottom of a pile of blankets. Absently, Strickler reached up out of the bedding, pawing at a stone shelf until he found his cellphone. There was no signal, of course, but with a few pre-installed apps and a powerbank, it still had it's uses. 

The changeling huffed, thumbing past his playlists and candy-matching games until he came to the date.

October 13th.

Strickler frowned, giving the calendar a double take. 

It was the third. He was absolutely _certain_ it was the third. Surely he hadn't spent two weeks napping and trying to memorize the names of Gumm-Gumm thralls.

His Upbeat Pictures of Deer Calendar disagreed. it was undoubtedly the thirteenth.

Thirteen days down, seventy nine to go.

Strickler rolled over, pressing the back of his arm to his eyes.

Two years ago, if someone had told him that he would put himself at risk to save the life of a Trollhunter, he would've had them committed.

If they had told him he'd do it by marrying Gunmar, he would've had them assassinated.

Absently, he rubbed at the stone flesh over his heart. The glowing scar had long since faded away, but the memory remained.

After centuries of serving him; Strickler thought he knew what Gunmar was capable of.

But casting the _Animaetia Scriptora_ ...that had been a surprise.

Even moreso, whom the soulmate spell marked.

  
_**Just once, to break the bond. If I agree, you'll let us go?** _

_**I'll let the Trollhunter go.** _

Stupid. _Stupid._

Strickler groaned, turning over and pressing his face into the bedding.

  
In hindsight, what he should have done was let Gunmar kill Jim. Unfulfilled,the soulbond spell would have rebound on its caster; killing Gunmar. As easily as that, Strickler would've been rid of them both. And with Bular gone, Gunmar's throne was his for the taking

True, he'd have lost no sleep over the Skullcrusher's demise.

But Young Atlas...

**_Once again, you have proved why you are the hero, and I am..._ **

**_Someone who can change._ **

Strickler sighed deeply.

Jim had gone into the Darklands. Not for revenge, not to kill Gunmar, but to _save a baby._ He'd gone without a guide, without rations, and with absolutely no plan.

 _Of course_ He'd been captured. and with the Trollhunter firmly in his clutches, Gunmar had ordered the Janus Order to summon their leader.

Strickler was on a long deserved vacation at the time; watching the sunset while sipping margaritas when Otto tracked him down in Taihiti. It wasn't a warm reuinion, and he'd come very close to killing the polymorph, until he was informed of Jim's fate.

Gunmar's proposition was simple.

The Trollhunters life for the rest of Strickler's.

Two years ago, the choice would've been easy. 

But two years ago, he hadn't fallen in love with a human woman, or fought a soulless Assassin alongside the Trollhunter.

In spite of Strickler's best efforts, it seemed that Jim had managed to find a place in his good graces.

And so, after downing the last of his drink, Strickler agreed to step in. It took a weeks worth of sleepless nights, raised voices and roars, but he managed to do what he had always done. He brought control to the chaos. A compromise. It was Jim's idea to write down the details and call it the Triad Contract. Triad, because it brought together three worlds, by three concessions.

A refuge in trollmarket, for Changelings.

The safe return of familiars, for the Trollhunter.

And power for Gunmar. A seat at the Tribunal. After centuries of being silenced, the warlord was given a voice, speaking on behalf of the Gumm-Gumms and all trolls who chose not to live by the pact. A voice, in the form of Waltomomew Strickler, his newly appointed ambassador.

"Ambassador."

 _That_ was the word they agreed to use in mixed company.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Strickler sighed and powered off his cellphone. He knew from experience it was best to ration his electronics. As the screen went dark, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the black glass.

It was strange, getting a clear look at his trollish form. As a general rule, trolls weren't overly concerned with their appearances and rarely used mirrors. Strickler owned several, but he was usually in human form when using them. 

Absently, he rubbed the heavy green bags beneath his eyes, then traced the age lines along his cheek. _He had age lines_. He could've _sworn_ those weren't there 250 years ago, when had he gotten old?

Srickler grimaced, turning his face to the right.

  
"Is this the face that launched a thousand ships; And burned the topless towers of Illium?" Strickler murmured to himself, quoting a poem from his last lesson plan.

His hair was starting to grow out. Maybe he'd allow it. Try for a bit of that Sylvan look. 

"I do have three months to decide if I like it or not." Strickler rubbed his eyes. "And now I'm talking to myself."

He wriggled free of the bedfurs, emerging on hands and knees in his human form. An overcoat and turtleneck would serve better than a loincloth in this frigid place.

"Right then." Strickler stood, straightening his collar. "No rest for the wicked."

Two Gumm-Gumm soldiers waited outside the bed cavern, standing guard. As Strickler passed, one of them began to growl in confusion, and the other gave him a sniff. Three months a year wasn't nearly enough time to adjust to a free-roaming changeling.

He didn't take offense to it.

"Strewth. Good to see your arm's healed up." Strickler nodded to the Gumm-Gumm on the left. The warrior blinked in surprise at being greeted by name. 

"and Pudd, dear, did you finally earn that new parlock spear? It looks well on you." He rapped his knuckle against the weapon.

The Gumm-gumm on the right stood a bit straighter, lifting her helmeted head proudly. Strewth jabbed an elbow into her side, growling out a single trollish word.  
'Kwei.' Impure.

He _DID_ take offence to that, but Strickler didn't let his smile falter. 

"Could either of you tell me where our esteemed Underlord has gone? It's rare for him to be up this early." 

Pudd nodded eager and lifted a hand, but Strewth knocked it down with a threatening glare. The female Gumm-Gumm glared back. But after a tense moment, she averted her gaze.  
Neither of the Gumm-Gumms were going to give him an answer. Strewth stared coldly past the changeling, while Pudd scuffed the ground with her boot, refusing to look up.

"Alright." Strickler felt his eyes starting to burn, and he fought the urge to return to troll form. "I'll find him myself. You've been _so_ helpful." 

He turned to leave, but the sound of a Parlock spear clattering to the ground made him glance back.

"Ungh!" The female Gumm-Gumm let out a flummoxed sound, hands clasped to her helmet. Aghast, absolutely _aghast_ at her clumsiness. As Strickler watched, she carefully picked the spear up, much more slowly than she needed to. For a moment, she was holding it horizontal.

The two-pronged head was pointed toward the throneroom.

Strickler glanced toward Pudd, trying to hide his amusement.

"I've been meaning to tell you; It hasn't escaped my notice how hard you'd been working lately. I'll be sure to tell Gunmar about your performance."

Most Gumm-Gumm's would've been unmoved, but Pudd stood up even straighter, her horns lifted so high that her chin was nearly vertical.

“As for you.” Strickler’s gaze rested for a brief moment on the other Gumm-Gumm, his smile betraying no sign of bitterness. “I will personally inform Gunmar of just how helpful you've been to his lifemate.”

With that, he turned on his heel and started toward the throneroom. He didn't waste a second glance at the thrall.

"Your Dark Excellence."

Strickler kept his tone even and reverent as he approached Gunmar's throne. The weight of the Warlord's gaze fell on him, and he came to a stop at the foot of the uneven stairs. In a well-practiced, balletic motion, he dipped to one knee, bowing his head and placing a hand across his heart.

"What have I told you about groveling, Stricklander?"

Gunmar was in a mood. Strickler could tell from the rumble beneath his words.

The changeling shrugged and began climbing the stairs.

"Force of habit, I'm afraid." Strickler gestured absently. "How are you feeling? I was worried you might be unwell."

"Do not pretend to be concerned with me, Impure." 

Strickler managed not to roll his eyes. Just barely.

"The Tribunal only listens to me as long as I speak for you. It's in my best interests to be concerned. Besides, you look..." He came to a stop in front of the throne, and for a second, found himself examining the Warlord.

His entire life, Strickler had been taught to regard Gunmar as something near a god. Gunmar the Black. The Skullcrusher. Trollkind's champion, destined to reclaim the world from the humans who squandered it.

Strickler's faith had been wavering for centuries, but he kept his misgivings hidden. it wasn't easy; he was an unbeliever, playing the part of high priest.

Marriage had only made things more difficult.

After all, It was hard to look upon a god with fear and trembling, when you knew that he snored.

"Choose your next words carefully, Stricklander." Gunmar growled, as if sensing the changeling's thoughts.

"I was going to say careworn." Strickler crossed his arms. "I'm trying to keep things civil, which is more than I can say of you."

Gunmar's lone eye rolled to focus on the changeling. His gaze flickered up and down once, considering.

"You're wearing flesh." The Warlord graveled.

"I was cold. Now I _know_ you aren't feeling well." The changeling leaned against Gunmar's throne. "No throttling, no death threats...Not even a snarl. So. Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" 

Gunmar stared at him, saying nothing.

Strickler glanced down. Summoning his courage, he lifted his hand and brought it to rest over Gunmar's paw. 

"Heavy hangs the head that wears the crown, as The Bard once said. If you want to talk, I'll be in our bedroom." Strickler ran his thumb along a glowing blue vein, then drew back. "Try not to forget I'm here." 

He cleared his throat, worried that his words would be misinterpreted. "I didn't survive two world wars to be crushed to death in my sleep."

Finally, Gunmar managed something near a smile; his crooked fangs tilting.

"If I was going to crush you in our bedchambers, Stricklander..."

A brief look of horror crossed Strickler's face. "Gunmar, for the love of Bodus," He pointed his finger at the Warlord, "Do not finish that sentence."

Gunmar's claws closed around Strickler's hand, pulling him close.

Strickler gave a startled little yelp as he stumbled forward, nearly falling into Gunmar's lap.

The Warlord lowered his head.

"And if I do?" Gunmar's words would be menacing, if it weren't for the lilt amusement in his tone.

Strickler pushed himself up, his nose very nearly touching Gunmar's snout. 

He gave the warlord a knowing look and readied a retort. But before he could, The sound of clattering spears interrupted them.

  
"I hope I'm not interrupting." chimed a stout, cloaked shape as he entered the throneroom, flanked by an entourage of Gumm-Gumm soldiers.

"Dictatious." Strickler quickly pulled away, smoothing the front of his jacket. "I was just consulting the Skullcrusher. He's unwell. Why weren't you here tending to him?"

  
"Our Dark Underlord doesn't need tending. What he needs is nourishment." With a flourish, the six-eyed troll pushed his cloak away from his shoulders, revealing a bassinet wrapped in his second set of arms.

"I-I see." Strickler stared at the swaddled form nestled in the basket. He tried to keep his voice from cracking. "Has a new familiar been chosen for the exchange?" 

"Of course not." Dictatious scoffed. "Our Underlord wanted a midnight snack."


	2. Stained Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of a magical artifact; Gunmar suggests altering their agreement.

**The hearts of the great can be changed -Homer**

  
"Bring the baby to me, Stricklander."

  
Wordless, Strickler took the squirming bundle from Dictatious. The familiar whimpered, lifting a pudgy fist out of her blankets.

Strickler took the tiny hand between two fingers, tucking it back into the swaddling. The baby nestled into his arms, a plump, freckled little thing with a head of downy red hair.

  
A different shade than Barbara's, lighter, but still...

"Your Dark Underlord gave you an order!" Dictatious' snapped, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he quickly placed the baby in Gunmar's lap.

It wasn't as though this was the first child death Strickler would witness. He grew up in an age before vaccinations and prenatal care; a time where an infant wasn't named until they survived their first year.

He couldn't claim that he'd never hurt an innocent. He was the one who directed the armies. He determined where and when the Janus Order would strike; and they had no qualms about removing any man, woman, or child caught in the crossfire.

  
Not to mention Bular, and his snack runs...

But he'd never been preset when a baby was killed. Never close enough to hold the child, or smell the milk on their breath.

Killing a thousand was warfare, clear and simple. A thousand deaths were a statistic.

but a single, innocent life...

"Such a tragedy, when a familiar loses their changeling. Who was she assigned to?" Strickler asked, keeping his tone off-hand. If he focused on the identity of the changeling, then he could pretend he didn't see the baby, or how very, very small she was when compared to the Gumm-Gumm King.

Hardly larger than a mouthful.

Dictatious shrugged at the question, gesturing to the bassinet with one pair of hands. Strickler walked over and examined the glowing stone embedded in its front, reading it aloud.

"Madison Morgan" He stopped, wide-eyed, "The Acolyte of Morgana. But how---"

"The impure still lives." Dictatious folded a set of arms across his chest. "It would seem she's come to consider herself above being linked to a fleshbag. A bit presumptuous, but if the changeling has no use for her familiar, then I'm sure our Underlord can find a place for it."

The advisor shot Strickler a thin-lipped grin, daring him to object.

He didn't rise to the bait.

"Of course." Strickler lifted his hands in a shrug, "Waste not, want not. If you'll excuse me, Gunmar." He turned away.

If he moved quickly, he might be able to reach the bedchambers before the crunching began.

 **"Stay.** " Gunmar's command thundered across the room.

Strickler came to a stop, pressing his teeth together.

With no other choice, he turned and approached the throne once more.

A Gumm-Gumm thrall knelt, presenting a cake of saltstone to Gunmar.

The Warlord broke off a chunk off between two claws.

"They say that hunger is the best spice." Dictatious announced, "But in my experience, nothing makes a meal quite like a good discussion. Wouldn't you agree, my lord?"

Gunmar said nothing, sprinkling the salt over the familiar's hair. The baby didn't seem concerned, she was too busy trying to fit her toes into her mouth.

"Then why don't YOU speak with our Underlord?" Strickler snapped, glaring at Dictatious.

"Dictatious is my advisor." Gunmar unwrapped the familiar's swaddling. "Dinner conversation is more suited for a companion. Sit at the foot of my throne. We'll find something to discuss."

The warlord waited until the changeling had made himself comfortable, then he spoke again.

"Tell me, Stricklander. What do you know of the _Inlustris Callis_?"

Strickler frowned. "The Starsilver Path? It's a myth, A story told to frighten Gumm-Gumm children."

  
"And how is tale told?" Gunmar tugged one of the familair's feet, then pulled at her hand, as if debating between a leg or a wing.

Strickler stared at the floor, trying very hard to pretend that he couldn't hear the baby's whines.

"The architect who designed Killahead Bridge was a wizard." He explained, "Not on par with Merlin, but still note-worthy. It is said that she spun her silver hair into a looking glass, lined it with Darkrock, and with an incantation, created the world's largest fetch. The _Inlustris Callis._ According to legend, she was known as Nadia the Nacreous, or Nadia the Nest-thief. A boogeyman who enters the Darklands to steal away weak, or disobedient Gumm-Gumm whelps."

Strickler forced himself to face Gunmar.

"But that's all it is. A legend! An Old Troll's Tale!

Anxiety made him raise his voice, and the baby began to cry.

Strickler glanced down at at the familiar, then back up, staring into the looming eye of the Gumm-Gumm King.

Once more, Gunmar grabbed a piece of saltstone. He smiled slowly, dropping the seasoning onto the baby's face. When no one came to console her, the familiar went from sobs to heartbroken wailing.

_"Enough!"_

Strickler took two steps forward and seized Gunmar's fist in both hands. His eyes glowed red as he forced the massive claw up and away from the familiar.

A heavy silence fell over the throneroom.

The Gumm-Gumm soldiers stared unblinking at the Warlord and his mate, waiting to see what Gunmar would do.

Even Dictatious looked surprised; his ears laid back like those of a startled cat.

Gunmar's expression was unreadable, but the growl he let out spoke volumes.

Strickler stared at his hand as if it'd moved on it's own.

His fingers were very, very small, compared to Gunmar's wrist.

Strickler felt his resolve wither, and he let go, backing away.

"I only meant--I'm worried about your cholesterol levels. Perhaps a helping of fabrics..." Before he could finish talking, a low rasping sound made him turn.

Four Gumm-Gumm soldiers were pushing a tarp-covered object across the throneroom, too heavy to lift. Clawed feet could be seen beneath the cloth, like pieces of an antique bathtub.

The metal claws cast blue sparks as they scraped along the ground.

The familiar forgotten for the moment, Strickler took a step back.

"It can't be." his voice hitched as he grabbed the arm of Gunmar's throne to steady himself.

Gunmar raised his hand, and at his signal, the tarp was drawn back.

  
The _Inlustris Callis_ was a Baroque-style monstrosity. Ornate black and silver scrolling lined its edges, Nylarlagroth-shaped snakes warping into crescent moons, the tapering limbs of goblins stretching into elegant stars, Stalkling wings flanking the left and right of the mirror. At the top, glowering like an eye, was a brilliant green stone, set into an engraving that could have symbolized a crown, or it might have been a gothic etching of the sun.

  
Strickler's anxiety faded as he stared into the mirror. It's surface reminded him of water; crisp and clear like a snow-fed mountain stream.

His throat suddenly felt very dry.

The mirror's reflection was pure; pure enough to wash away the grime of the Darklands. If he reached out to touch it, he knew that the silver would pool in his palms. He could lift the crystal liquid to his lips, and if he drank deeply enough, then he would be just as clean as...

A sharp tug to the back of his jacket yanked him off-balanced, and he was shocked to see that he has crossed the room and pushed his arm into the _Inlustris Callis_. If the Gumm-Gumm soldier hadn't grabbed him, he would have stepped through.

Strickler backed away from the mirror, examining his arm. When he saw no sign of damage, he cleared his throat. "What your plans for this momentous discovery, Dark Underlord?"

"The _Inlustris Callis_ is too narrow for a proper Troll. Such a thing would only fit Impures, and fleshbags. Things small enough to squeeze through it. Dictatious suggested I have it destroyed."

Strickler looked at Gunmar, then almost against his will, gazed back at the mirror.

Of course Trolls would want to destroy such a thing. To them, it was just another fetch. There was no concern for the craftsmanship, or the history; the intrinsic value to be found in such ancient magic.

  
"I'm sure the Janus Order can find SOME use for it. Maybe as a supply line, or to barter with the Tribunal. Or perhaps---"

"Perhaps I could give it to my Queen." Gunmar suggested.

"Precisely that. Perhaps you could---wait, what?"

Strickler looked up, certain he hadn't heard that correctly.

"There is...little to you. You might fit through the looking glass."

Gunmar settled back in his throne.

"You'd let me go back early?" Strickler swallowed a lump in his throat, "Why?"

"Because I know you will return when I command. You are soft, Stricklander. Weak. You will return to me because if you don't I will send an army to drag you back. and then you will join me for a true feast."

Gunmar growled, leaning forward in his throne

"Now get this squalling meat out of my sight."

"Yes," Strickler hurried forward, lifting the baby into his arm, "Yes, of course, your Dark Excellence! I assure you won't regret this!"

The changeling lifted little Madison, (it was now safe to think of her as Madison; knowing she would live) to his shoulder. He cupped his palm to her head and rocked back and forth on his heels. In a few minutes her whimpers died down.

Gunmar looked on, his expression unreadable.

"You will serve your warlord while you roam the surface. Observe the Tribunal, influence the Trollhunter, and ensure Trollmarket remains _convinced_ of my _dedication_ to the Triad Contract. And Stricklander?"

Strickler glanced up and Gunmar, and this time, he met his eye and allowed himself to smile.

"Yes?"

"when you return in three days; Bring me flesh to eat."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strickler was prepared.

He knew the _Inlustris Callis_ was his only choice if he didn't want to rely on the Amulet. He also knew that there was some sort of glamour that drew him to it; a spell that beckoned for him to drop his guard and walk the silver path.

He knew better than to trust it.

"Watch your hands!" Strickler growled, swatting at a Gumm-Gumm as she tied a chain around his waist.

"Nuhngh." The Thrall waved him off, giving the chain a tug to be sure it was secure. In a surprisingly human gesture, She flashed a thumb's up to four more soldiers. They nodded as one, each gripping a length of chain.

The Gumm-Gumms were ready to pull, should Strickler signal for help.

"How much longer will I have to hold this thing?" Dictatious growled. Madison wriggled in his arms, letting out a happy squeal as she yanked his earring.

"I'll take the familiar after I've discerned whether or not the path is safe." Strickler answered, "I can defend myself. She can't."

"And they say chivalry is dead." Dictatious rolled all six of his eyes. With his back to Gunmar, he could get away with it.

The Warlord leaned forward, and suddenly one of the thralls went stiff; eyes glazing silver. She dropped the chain, walking toward Strickler.

The changeling winced at the sight of Decimaar at work, but he stepped forward to meet the Gumm-Gumm.

She lifted her claw, offering him a bronze dagger.

Strickler looked down at it. With a word, he palmed the weapon, sliding the hilt into his sleeve.

The Thrall jolted suddenly, blinking as her eyes returned to their normal beady green. She grunted, then hurriedly returned to her place in formation.

Strickler glanced once toward Gunmar. Their eyes met, and he lifted his hand in a two fingered salute.

Then, he turned to the _Inlustris Callis._

A brief chill ran down his back, but he stood straight. He could do this. _He was prepared._

"Fortune sides with he who dares" Strickler said to himself.

And so, with coiled muscles and a tightly gripped knife, he stepped through the looking glass and onto the surface world.

Strickler was prepared.

But prepared or not, he still tripped over the ficus.

"Wha---" Strickler stumbled, barely saving himself from a faceplant by grabbing the nearest steady object.

A Winter Mist marbletop sink, with a little glass dish, shaped like a swan and filled with potpourri.

Strickler pulled himself to his feet; taking in his surroundings. It seemed to be a well kept public restroom.

Two stalls, one with a broken lock. A cheap reproduction of Corot's _Diana and Actaeon_ above the paper towel dispenser,

And the _Inlustris Callis_ ; propped carelessly against one wall.

For some reason, the mirror's glamour seemed weaker on this side of the glass. There was no thirst, no longing. For all appearances, it was just a dusty mirror.

But Strickler, more than anyone, knew just how _trustworthy_ appearances really were.

  
So it was very carefully that he slid the knife out of his sleeve, opened the restroom door a crack, and peered out. 

The thrum of Celtic Rock could be heard, over the sound of sniffling.

Strickler pushed the door a bit more, poking his head out.

He seemed to have stumbled into a timewarp; or something like the Shadow Realm. Either way, he had found his way into a Place That Should Not Be.

"It's like Hellenistic Period had an unholy child with the 1970's."

Strickler scanned the room, taking in a display of fake crystal windchimes, a rotating book shelf, and a clearance rack sagging under the weight of pumpkin scented candles. A store of some sort; Modern Pagan, or Wicca. Something trendy and insufferable.

If it was a trap, it was a very convincing one.

Strickler debated for several seconds, then he slipped back into the restroom.

Half an hour later, he emerged, _sans_ chain, and with Madison in his arms.

Strickler could see the exit sign on the other side of the store. Fifty steps to freedom, maybe less.

He managed five before he was caught.

"Hey, you!" chimed a young voice.

Strickler considered making a run for it. After all, there was absolutely nothing suspicious about a middle-aged man in a suit running with a baby tucked beneath his arm. He squared his shoulders, put on his best _"I WILL demand to speak to your manager"_ expression, and turned to face the speaker.

A pale, mousy woman with coke-bottle glasses stood behind the counter, dusting off a pair of centaur bookends. She looked exactly like the sort of person who would willingly work in New Age Retail.

"The Washroom's for paying customers only." She lifted a hand to tighten one of the rubber bands in her hair. Two black black buns were bunched on top of her head; shaped vaguely like a pair of stubby horns.

"Ah, the joys of capitalism." Strickler approached the counter, as nonchalant as any parent shopping with their child. "Alright. What do you recommend?"

The store clerk pushed the bookends to the side. She examined a necklace tree covered in hand-made jewelry, then selected a pink stone on a leather cord.

"Mangano Calcite. I get the sense that you're someone with a lot of Karma to unfog." She sniffed, and for the first time, Strickler noticed that her eyes were puffy and red, as if she'd been crying.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his last clean handkerchief.

"How much for the calcite?" He asked, passing her the tissue.

The clerk took the handkerchief, blowing her nose with a honk like a baby goose. "Six fifty; including tax."

Strickler shifted Madison to his other arm, pulling out his wallet.

"Aw," The clerk smiled, as if noticing her for the first time. "A little baby person! How old is she?"

"Fourteen months this December." Strickler answered without missing a beat, "I'm looking after her while my son-in-law finishes some shopping."

"Wish they could stay that age forever." The clerk waved at Madison, and the familiar squealed, flashing a toothless grin.

Strickler winced at the shrill sound, but he forced a smile and pushed his bank-card across the counter.

The clerk shook her head.

"Sorry, I don't have a reader. Cash or trade."

Strickler frowned, digging out a faded bill.

"I'm afraid I only have a five. Alas, my karma must remain fogged."

The clerk chuckled, then took the five and tucked the crystal into a small paper bag.

Strickler blinked once, but he accepted it, giving her a questioning look.

  
"Discount. For the hankie," She explained, "and the unironic use of 'alas'."

The changeling cleared his throat, pocketing the necklace. His attention was drawn to a little glass turtle; it's shell notched to hold a ream of business cards.

Carefully, he took one, examining the flourishing print on its front.

**Bright Tower Books and Novelties. Antiques by Selene.**

"I wish I had more time to browse, I have a weakness for antiques." He made a show of putting the business card in his wallet.

The clerk's expression changed, a bit of tension leaving her eyes.

"Next time." She replied, "I keep the real treasures in the back."

"Absolutely. I'll be back." Strickler gave her a one handed wave on his way out.

As he stepped onto the sidewalk, the morning sun began to peak out from behind a cloud.

Strickler stopped, turning his face up toward it. There was a time when he plotted to make the night last forever. It wasn't until he joined Gunmar in the Darklands that he learned just how much he could miss the warmth of daylight.

Madison whimpered, scrunching her eyes shut and pressing her fists to her face.

"I know," Strickler said softly, "You'll get used to it, I promise."

He tucked her head beneath his chin, letting her bury her face. With his free hand, he fished out his cellphone and hit the third number on his speed dial.

First order of business; get a ride to the Janus Order and drop off Madison for processing. Second order; arrange to obtain the _Inlustris Callis,_ by any means necessary. Third order, pick up flowers, for Barbara and see if she wanted to grab brunch at the Russian cafe.

The phone rang twice before Nomura picked up.

"Strickler?" Her gravelly voice held a very satisfying note of shock. "You're out?"

"I'll explain in person. I need you to pick me up at this address." He rattled off the numbers, "A little shop beside that crooked mechanic. You know the one."

"How are you out? Was it the Trollhunter?" Nomura demanded. "I told him---trial---burn"

A burst of static made Strickler hold the phone away from his ear.

"Zelda, You're cutting out, what was that last part?"

"I told the Trollhunter not to bother you with the trial."

"Trial?"

"One of the Trollmarket Changlings, they're being charged with **Grinderstetch**."

"With what?" He knew. His trollish was flawless.

but he couldn't have heard that right. Not this, not now, not after all they'd worked for.

No one would be so stupid as to---

"Grinderstetch!" Nomura's voice rose over the static, "Assault!"

Strickler's eyes began to burn yellow as he spoke the direct translation of the word aloud.

"Attacking a troll whelp."


	3. Weltschmerz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A changeling assassin sheds light on the situation in Trollmarket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's got some adult humor. Just a head's up.

"Otto! Open up!"

  
Strickler pounded his fist against the door until it rattled. He'd given up on the secret knock after noticing a pair of eyes peering out from a crack in the blinds.

"Scaarbach, I know that you're in there!"

Behind him, he could hear Nomura pulling out of the driveway with Madison tucked in the back seat. Strickler knew his nestmate would make sure the familiar arrived safely at the Janus order, which took care of one of his problems.

But not the most pressing one.

Strickler briefly debated breaking down the door. He glanced around the lanai-style porch, noticing a row of exquisite potted succulents. The collection stood proud; Thick, thumb-sized leaves in dozens of shades of green. Like a dragons horde of emeralds.

  
Strickler picked up one of the plants, checking its heft.

 _"Echeveria Pulvinata,"_ He declared, loudly, " It'll bloom in a month or so, won't it?" 

Strickler opened his hands and the pot shattered on the ground.

  
"Oops."

The blinds rustled, but the door remained shut. 

"Tell me, Otto, How has your week been?" Strickler began to use a very specific, practiced tone. A venom-honey voice that only well-spoken tyrants could pull off. 

"Let me tell you about mine."

He grabbed a beautiful, pink-petaled _Kalanchoe,_ tossing it into the air and catching it.

"On Sunday, A goblin ate the last book I'd managed to keep hidden from Dictatious. That new best-seller, you know? The one with the car chase? I was four chapters away from finishing it. "

He lifted the pot over his head, then slam-dunked it against the porch.

"On Monday, Gunmar demanded I butcher a Nylarlagroth. Did you know their chitin is twelve inches thick? Nearly impossible to carve; so you have to crawl inside them and start from there. On Tuesday I spent twelve hours in the Crucible. Our Dark Underlord calls it sparring, but really, it's just an excuse to watch me fight for my life against a pack of rabid Helheetis. I supposed I made a good show of it, because on Wednesday, I was confined to quarters to recover. Mind you, A Gumm-Gumm's idea of medical attention is to lick an injury until the bleeding stops. "

A massive Hen and Chicks plant exploded against the pavement.

"I've had no proper food, no indoor plumping, and no freedom. I make these sacrifices because I want to help my half-breed brethern. That is my burden to bear. The only thing I ask the Janus Order to do in return is keep tabs on five measly changelings while I'm away!"

Strickler's eyes were burning now, and he turned his attention to an elegant jade plant. He grabbed the terra-cotta flowerpot and began to press his palms together. 

_"Nien!_ Not that one!" 

A half-dozen locks clicked into place, and a second later, a flustered, overweight polymorph stumbled out of the house, clutching his bathrobe closed. With a curse, He snatched the plant away; tucking it protectively under one arm.

  
Neither of them wanted to be the first to speak, so the two changelings glared at each other in smouldering silence. Human disguises lacked the proper anatomy to express their mutual disdain. Tensions like these were meant for bristling fur; raised hackles and bared fangs.

But because they were currently human, and because of Strickler's position under Gunmar; Otto forced a smile.

"Why don't we discuss it over breakfast, _Mein Freund?"_

The smell of Blutwurst sizzling on the stovetop drew Strickler's attention. For the first time, he was reminded that it'd been weeks since he last had a decent meal. He frowned to himself as Otto closed the door.

"I didn't know you took up cooking." Strickler reached into his breast pocket, feeling for the dagger he'd hidden there.

" _Ja._ It would seem there's is a lot you don't know about, _mein fruend_."

Strickler's eyes narrowed. 

One 'mein fruend' was Otto being cordial.

Two meant he was hiding something.

Strickler turned toward the polymorph, drawing back the dagger. 

Before he could make his move, a kitchen-knife flew through the air; hitting his knuckles forcing his fingers to open on reflex.

The dagger cluttered to the ground.

A reptilian changeling leaned in the kitchen doorway. In one hand she held a spatula; which she tossed into the air before catching it again with a flourish. 

She didn't have a second hand. Her shoulder ended in a brittle stump.

"Stemhower?" Strickler looked the chalk-white changeling up and down. "Why---"

He'd meant to ask 'why are you here,' but a more pressing question sprang to mind.

_"Why are you naked?"_

Otto set a plate of bludwurst and fried potatoes in front of Strickler, then then took a seat beside Eloise. At Strickler's urging; She'd thrown on her mechanical prosthetic and an oversized Papa Skull T-shirt, but Otto seemed determined to stay in his fluffy bathrobe.

Strickler glanced down at a suspiciously dark sausage, then pushed the plate away.

"Stemhower, I thought we had an agreement. What are you doing out of Trollmarket?" 

Eloise speared a potato on her fork, popping it into her mouth. In response to Strickler's question, she pointed a thumb in Otto's direction.

"Him."

The polymorph ducked his head; his ears turning redder than the blutwurst. 

" _Ich bin unschuldig!_ Ellie and I were simply discussing The Janus Order's next move." Otto explained. "I saw no reason to disturb your tête-à-tête with our Dark Underlord, especially over such minor complications. " 

"One of our own has been accused of attacking a child!" Strickler punctuated his point by slamming his palms onto the table. He rose; pushing his chair back, "In what fresh hell could that be considered a minor complication!?"

  
"Well, it's very minor changeling." Eloise pointed out, unperturbed. "Ceb was a nobody in the Janus Order, and he's a nobody now. Besides; he's guilty. He smuggled a UV lamp into Trollmarket and a youngling almost lost a hand."

  
"An Ultra Violet lamp." Strickler shook his head, sinking back into his seat. "Of all the imbecilic..."

He pressed his fingers to his temples, closing his eyes against an oncoming headache.

"We thought it would be in our best interest to take a Zero Tolerance policy with this sort of thing." For a minute, Otto almost looked sympathetic, "There is the welfare of four more changelings to consider."

"Changelings smart enough not to break Troll Law." Eloise added.

  
"What do any of us know about Troll Law?" Strickler murmured, to himself more than anyone else. "We spend our entire lives infiltrating Human Society."

He paused.

"You said the child almost lost a hand. Did you see the injury?"

"I did." Eloise replied. "An ugly sun-scorch across the back and knuckles. Vendel put some sort of salve on it, but the whelp's going to have a scar."

Strickler looked down at his own hands. Thin. Long-fingered. Clean, well kept nails. Hands. Not paws, or hooves or talons.

He didn't know who Ceb was, but if he lived in Trollmarket, then that meant he'd willingly given up his familiar. He'd left his humanity behind to try and make the peace between Trolls and Changelings a bit easier. He'd given up his hands. 

Carefully, Strickler lifted his arm, holding his hand palm-out, as if to shield his eyes.

"If the changeling is from the Janus Order, then they've had training. They would have aimed for the whelp's face. If the child raised a hand to protect themselves, then the burn would be on the palm."

His expression hardened.

"I know that look, _Mein Fruend_." Otto stood up and began gathering dishes. "Although I have not seen it since Stonewall. Don't you think your efforts would be better spent advising our Underlord?"

"You should save your strength, Strickler. Rumor has it the boss is working you hard." Eloise agreed, propping her chin on one fist. A knowing grin split her face, showing off an impressive row of pirhana-like teeth. "You know, really riding you."

Strickler returned her smile, his lips pressed together so tightly they'd gone white. Before she could finish chuckling, he'd lunged across the space between them.

The dishes clattered to the ground as Strickler pinned the polymorph to the table, his dagger pressed beneath her chin. She snarled once, but when a thin trickle of blood began to run down her neck, she went still. 

"You know," Eloise said, after a minute, "It'd be easier to just let Trollmarket have their scapegoat. He DID smuggle in a UV Bulb."

"Easier, yes." Strickler stepped back; moving the blade away. "But if there's one thing I'm not, it's easy."

He turned to Otto as Eloise rubbed at the cut in her neck.

"I'm borrowing your car." He took out his wallet, passing Otto a business card. "In an hour or so, I want you to go to this address and convince the owner to sell you the mirror in the bathroom. You'll know which one."

"And if the owner refuses?" Otto quirked his head slightly, a yellow light glinting across his eyes.

"Then we'll arrange for it's procurement. WITHOUT killing, Otto." 

"You're going to Trollmarket, Aren't you?" Eloise cracked her neck as Strickler made his way to the door. "Give me a lift. I'll let you use my Horngozel."

 _"Auf bald, Perle._ " Otto called after her.

 _"Schleich dich, Bärchen."_ Eloise responded, grabbing a hooded trenchcoat from the closet. She slipped it on then stepped outside.

Strickler turned toward Otto, who tried to busy himself with tidying up the broken dinnerware.

  
"I speak German, you know." Strickler stated. 

_"Ja._ " Otto mumbled, refusing to look up at him.

"Stemhower."

_"Ja."_

"I'm not angry with you. I'm merely horrified by your life choices."

A few moments later, Strickler slid into the passenger seat of a Ford Club Coupe with tinted windows. Eloise adjusted the rearview mirror.

"Let's stop by the Java Jet on the way. We'll hit the drive-through, try that new pumpkin latte."

"I don't drink coffee." Strickler clicked his seatbelt into place.

"Neither do I," Eloise grinned, pulling out of the driveway, "Just thought you'd want to get the taste of _Schwanzstucker_ out of your mouth."


	4. Respondeat Superior or, in layman's terms, 'Let the Master Answer.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler returns to Trollmarket.

"The tribunal has reached a decision."

Vendel's solemn voice filled the chamber and in an instant, the chatter of the spectators died down.

The rest of the Troll Tribunal was silent, but their expressions said everything the Trollhunters needed to know. 

"That isn't a good look." Toby grabbed Jim's arm, giving him a shake. "Jim! Those aren't 'not guilty' looks!" 

Jim opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. His blue eyes scanned the ground as he searched for encouraging words, the sort he might hear in feel-good courtshows where the spunky underdog won and justice always prevailed.

But this wasn't that sort of show, and when none came to mind, he looked over his shoulder at the defendant.

"Trollhunter," The caged changeling shuddered, resting his forehead against the bars. "Please, take care of her for me."

It was clear by the way his caracal-ears drooped. He'd had already accepted his fate. 

"We can't give up, Ceb. Vendel _knows_ it was an accident. You're going to see her again." When Jim finally responded, it was with a steady voice and firm confidence. 

Ever since Strickler started training the Trollhunter, he'd gotten just a little bit better at lying.

  
"Do something! Object! Hersey! Declare a mistrial!" Toby turned to Ceb's defense council.

Only a member of Ceb's tribe could represent him in court.

The Janus Order had washed their hands of him entirely.

The Trollmarket Changelings were too afraid to risk their standing.

That left one changeling willing to take the job.

NotEnrique grimaced, stepping forward to address the Tribunal.

"Ah, beggin' your pardon, your honorships," He cleared his throat. "Council would like to make a closing statement!"

"If it pleases the court." Toby added.

"It _does not_ please us!" Usurna snapped, "We are ready to render a verdict."

"Right." NotEnrique slouched away. Then to Ceb, he added a quiet, "Sorry, mate." 

Vendel pulled himself to his full height. In a voice like a rising storm, he began to explain the Tribunal's decision.

"Times of change have always been trying for our kind. When the Amulet chose a human, we thought it was a sign of the end times. We threw challengers and trials against the Trollhunter, and in the darkest shadows of our hearts, we hoped that he would fail. We hoped that Merlin's Champion would fall as quickly as he had risen; so that the amulet could choose correctly, and we we could return to the comfort of what we've always known. A trollish Trollhunter. Since he first broke tradition, James Lake Jr has proven to be..."

The Elder Troll paused, considering.

"He has proven himself to a degree none of us ever expected. The Human Trollhunter has accomplished more for our kind in two years than some trolls accomplish in two hundred. James has gained the title of Bular-Slayer. And at his hand, Angor Rot has fallen as well. Both would still be threats to Trollmarket if we had allowed our fear to control us."

"Not fear for our safety," Vendel was quick to clarify, "But our fear of change. And so, when our Human Trollhunter asked us to look at Changlings as stolen kindred rather than impostors, it was with great reluctance that the Tribunal agreed to allow former-trolls into Trollmarket. Progress has come slowly, however, it has come. Together, we are learning to adjust to changing times; while holding close to our unchanging principles. We acknowledge the difficulty that comes with learning to live in peace, and that mistakes have been made, on both sides. With that being said..."

He bowed his head, the words falling heavy. 

"We the Tribunal, find Ceban Smith guilty on all charges."

A ripple of murmurs broke over the crowd, and Ceb crumpled to the floor of his cage, clutching the bars with mottled claws.

"the Tribunal has taken into consideration the mild nature of the whelp's injury, and in the interest of mercy, we've decided against sending Ceban Smith to The Deep." Usurna declared, stepping forward so that Vendel could catch his breath. "However, we cannot forgive the disregard that the impure has shown; both to our laws and the well-being of our young. He will never again be welcome in Trollmarket."

As Ceban wept silently, Usurna continued.

"Gatto has generously offered to take him into custody, and will house the impure until the end of his days. The Tribunal is in agreement. Ceban Smith, you are hereby sentenced to exile in Gatto's Keep."

"Whoa! WHOA!" Toby held up his hands, backing away as a handful of Krubera guards closed in on them, "You can't send him to Gatto's keep! He isn't going to house him, he's gonna hork him!"

"No!" Jim protested, stepping back toward the cage, _"This isn't right!"_

  
"Didja really thing they'd give a changeling a fair shake?" NotEnrique asked, climbing onto the Trollhunter's shoulder.

  
"Wait, What about Kovi!" Ceb began to pace from one corner of his cage to the other like a panicked beast, his tail whipping behind him, "What's going to happen to her?"

One of the Krubera guards growled, leveling his spear toward the Changeling.

Jim quickly put himself between them.

"Please, Vendel, there has to be some other way!" He implored, looking to the elder troll.

Vendel leaned against his staff; his reply calm but reproachful.

"The Tribunal has already spoken. While two among us believe what happened was an accident, three agree that the changeling acted with malicious disregard for our laws, and the voice of the many rings louder than the choice of the few. " 

"Wait, Wait! Two, and three..." Toby counted on his fingers quickly, "That's only five! What about about Mr. Strickler?"

Precious few voices in the crowd rose in agreement, and were quickly silenced by glares from the others.

Usurna's upper lip curled in response.

"Considering Stricklander's prior obligations," She lingered over the word 'prior' as a reminder, "The Tribunal has agreed to consider the sixth vote----"

**"Not Guilty."**

Stricklander's grating voice cut through Usurna's cool tone like a throwing knife as he stepped into view. 

He was dressed in his tribunal best, his brown deerskins replaced with a near identical outfit of black sable. His cowl of blades was hidden beneath a lush collar of snallygaster feathers, each of them glinting like an oilspill.

A stunned silence fell over the court, and for a brief minute, the only sound that broke it was the scraping of changeling claws as Stricklander climbed the stairs to his place at the tribunal bench. 

But only for a minute.

Everyone began talking at once, both the **Trollhunters**...

"Strickler?" 

"He's out? How is he out!? Wait, if he's out, does that mean Gunma--OW!"

"Ex-nay on the Head Honcho-ney! This is good, the Bossman'll have somthin' up his sleeve."

and the **Tribunal.**

"This Trial has concluded!!!"

"Interrupting our proceedings---"

"--Supposed to break for lunch an hour ago---"

"--I thought he was attending to the Darklands Heartstone?"

"Did the Trollhunter summon him!?"

Not to mention a few choice words from the spectators.

"Impure."

"Spy!"

"Gunmar's Dog."

"He's the one who should be in a cage!"

**"The Tribunal will come to order!!!"** Vendel brought his staff down; the sound of Heartstone on rock cracking like thunder.

Once the clamor died down, he announced the ambassador's arrival.

"The Tribunal recognizes Gunmar's spokesman. Stricklander, Son of Sig-rah-drif-er."

"Sigrdrífa." Stricklander corrected, as if he'd been pronouncing the word his entirely life. 

Gunmar had only told him his mother's name a few months ago.

"Stricklander, Son of Sigrdrifa." Vendel reiterated. "What say you?"

Stricklander rose to his feet and stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back.

"It has been brought to my attention," he looked to Jim pointedly "That one of my brethren has been accused of quite possibly the worst crime a troll can commit against his tribe."

Stricklander braced his hands against the bench, hanging his head a moment before gathering himself.

"The Janus Order has zero tolerance for such a thing. If Ceban is guilty, then a lifetime in Gatto's Keep is the least he deserves."

"The Tribunal has already decided. The Impu--" Usurna quickly corrected herself, "The changeling has been found guilty."

"I know." Stricklander steepled his fingers, turning to face the Tribunal. "I came as soon as I heard, and I would like to state for the record, that I hold my fellow council members absolutely blameless for their oversight."

"Oversight?" repeated Bork, a willowy, faun-like troll.

Stricklander smiled at his fellow council member.

"Indeed. Gunmar and I both know," He kept an even tone as he spoke, the same sort he used to convince the administrators to increase funding for the art and science clubs."That the Troll Tribunal is as old and hallowed as the mantle of Trollhunter. To accuse them of deliberately trying to exclude one of their members to manipulate the proceedings would be unthinkable. Why; such an accusation could be considered..." He stroked the feathers at his collar. His claws parting them to reveal the blades underneath. 

"Courting war."

"Hmph." Gatto was clearly unimpressed with the implication. "And I suppose you'll demand we set the changeling free?"

"Absolutely not." Stricklander replied. "My vote creates a hung jury at three to three. In the interest of Justice, I recommend an entirely new trial. I've not yet been convinced of Ceb's innocence. Rest assured, If his carelessness caused injury to a child, then, I will _personally_ see to his execution."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
" _Stricker, We need to talk."_

  
Stricklander held up one finger, signaling for Jim to wait as the changeling examined a Trollish food stall.

  
"I'm not trying to imply that I don't trust your establishment," Stricklander explained to the bored-looking vendor, "I'm just not convinced these are authentic pigskin."

For emphasis, he prodded at one of the grilled footballs. 

"How can you think of eating at a time like this?" 

"Young Atlas, You've been to the Darklands, you know what passes for food there." 

The Trollhunter grabbed his wrist, tugging him away from the food stall. 

"Claire's grabbing pizzas. _Come on._ "

Stricklander frowned, taking note of the dark bags under Jim's eyes, and a freshly scabbed cut on his forehead. He pulled his arm free, but fell into step beside him.  


"Jim," he began, "I understand how this must look, but-"

"You _lied_ to the _Tribunal._ " 

Beyond exasperated, The trollhunter lifted his hands to his head and began to pace; tugging at his short brown hair.

"You made them think I let you out!"

He took a few steps. Stopped. Turned on his heel.

" _How_ are you here? How did you get out? Did anyone else leave?"

"Yes," Stricklander replied. "But not who you think."

Jim stopped, scanning his face for any signs of deception.

Stricklander sighed, and a glamour of green light washed over him. When the sickly glow faded, a more reassuring face had replaced his Trollish mien.

"I brought a familiar to the surface. Nomura is tending to her right now. Jim, Gunmar isn't going anywhere." Strickler reached for the Trollhunter's shoulder. "He can't hurt you here."

Jim stepped back, brushing his hand off.

"I told you already. I can take care of myself." 

Strickler had a biting retort at the ready, something about Jim taking care of himself right into the Darklands, or right into Gunmar's clutches, whichever sounded better.

He had it ready. But he didn't use it.

"I know, Young Atlas. You've more than proven yourself in that regard."

Jim frowned, trying to decide whether or not Strickler was making fun of him. When he realized he wasn't, a little bit of the tension left him. A moment after that, his armor faded.

  
Once more, they started walking.

"How _did_ you get out?" Jim asked, stuffing his hands into his front pockets.

"Here's the thing," Strickler smiled, "If you want the full picture, I'll need to tell you a Gumm-Gumm bedtime story."

"A _what?_ "

He took a small amount of satisfaction in the Trollhunter's confusion. 

"Believe it or not, it actually begins with the Wizard who designed Killahead..."

They reached their destination as Strickler was finishing his tale.

"---And then Stemhower tells me that I'm wasting my time. 'The trial's already finished.' So I transform, then I turn to her and say, "I'll be the judge of that!"

"Really?" Jim groaned, pushing the door open.

The changeling brushed past him, chuckling at his own pun. His smile faded when he realized that Jim hadn't lead him to Blinky's library. They were someplace else.

It was more of a cave than a house; a cluttered living area, surrounded by smaller dugouts leading to other rooms.

Strickler stepped into the stone chamber. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to try and make the troll hovel into a modern home. Here and there stood artifacts from the surface world. 

A beaten up couch, a television, a toybox, and a gas powered generator.

One corner of the room had been cleared to make a humble indoor garden. Nothing more than four wooden boards holding a tiny patch of dirt.

A few tomato plants sagged there, pale and lifeless without a UV lamp. Strickler took a closer look at them, so focused that he nearly tripped over a haphazard pile of coloring books and paints.

He glowered at the mess, stepping over it carefully.

"Where-?" Strickler didn't get to finish his question before a christmas colored blur launched itself across the room. 

He barely caught a glimpse of it as Jim braced himself, arms held out to catch.

**"Trollhunter!"**

"Kovi Cake!" Jim let out an audible 'oof' as he lifted the troll whelp to his hip, stumbling back a bit under her weight. "Where is everyone?"

  
"TP And Uncle N are helpin' Aaarrrggghhh. He got stuck in the door again. Want me to do your War Paint?" Kovi pressed her chin to his shoulder, her stubby tail waving like a flag.

"Maybe later." Jim set the whelp down and in an instant, her attention turned to his teacher.

Strickler quickly hid his surprise. He dropped to one knee, trying to get closer to eye level.

It was evident that Kovi was Ceb's. Although she sported a rack of four goat-like hornstubs and a wooly puff of hair, her green accents, nose, and white freckles were a spitting image of the river-troll changeling on trial.

  
"Hello, I don't believe we've met." Strickler offered her his hand.

Kovi looked at it, quirking her head to one side. Then, she stood on her tip-toes, reeled back and konked her forehead against his.

"Please to meet you!" She announced as he fell, clutching his head.

"Kovi, no!" Jim looked like he was trying very hard not to grin, "what did Uncle N tell you about head butting?"

"But he said 'hi' first!" she protested, her little brow furrowed in confusion. 

"No, No. It's alright. When in Rome." Strickler sat up, touching his forehead. He grimaced when his fingers came back purple. 

"You're a changeling like my papa!" Kovi declared, then her smile vanished, and she lifted her clawed hands to her mouth. "Blood!"

Strickler's irritation must have been visible, because the whelp's ears drooped.

"I'm sorry." Kovi said, her head hanging low with guilt. 

Strickler briefly faltered between sternness and reassurance, but the whelp looked so crestfallen that he pushed his annoyance aside.

"Are you going to do it again?" He asked, pushing himself to his feet.

Kovi shook her head.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Then I accept your apology. Waltolomew Stricklander. Strickler, for short. My friend's call me Walter. "

Her eyes lit up, as if a burden had been lifted. 

"Walter!" Kovi chirped, "I'm Kovi! Kovi Smith!"

"Kovi." Strickler repeated. Once more, he extended his hand to shake.

Kovi beamed, then pressed her face to his palm.

"Close enough!" Jim chuckled, "Kovi Cake, why don't you go see if Toby has any bandaids? When you get back, we'll practice handshakes again."

"Okay! Then we'll do paints!" Kovi dropped to all fours, bounding out of the room like an excited puppy.

"Whew." Jim made his way to the couch, the springs groaning as he plopped down. 

"Well, she raises the stakes a bit." Strickler pressed his fingers to the cut until the bleeding stopped. Then he crossed the room to examine the garden. 

"Tell me about it. I thought babysitting NotEnrique was hard. Try looking after a kindergartner who can bench-press you."

"You're not doing this all on your own, are you?" Strickler turned away from the fruitless tomato plants. 

"Everyone's pitching in. Blinky, Aaarrrggghhh, even Nomura. NotEnrique's been a huge help." Jim shrugged, "Believe it or not, he's actually way better at being a babysitter than being a baby."

"And yet he's an even worse Lawyer. Was that little imp really the best choice you had?" Strickler sat down beside Jim, giving him a pointed look.

The Trollhunter threw his hands into the air. "You have no idea how crazy this week's been! The Trollmarket changelings were too scared to speak up for him! You weren't answering our messages! "

  
"Jim-"

"Nomura's making sure they don't break the bridge down and put it in storage, and Draal's been acting really, REALLY weird around her. Crispy Weird!"

"Young Atlas---"

"None of us know anything about Troll Law! Blinky tried to help, but there's like, ten different books you need to read just to make an opening statement! And then we've got finals, not to mention--"

**"JAMES LAKE JR!"**

Strickler's troll voice broke through, just long enough to get the panicking Trollhunter's attention. 

"I swear, I never received your messages. Today is the first I've heard about the Trial. No one would ever expect you to handle Janus Order business on your own. You're not even old enough to be our intern."

Jim sagged a bit, propping his chin on his hands.

"Otto said---"

"JListen to me. If you ever need to deliver a message to me while I'm working on the Darkland's Heartstone, give it to Nomura. Scarbaach's loyalty, first and foremost, is to Gunmar. He couldn't care less about other changelings or the Contract. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you, but I am now. Besides, I'm sure between your undaunted optimism and my political expertise, we'll figure something out."

  
"And if we don't, _Ceb es comida_." Jim looked queasy for a moment. "So, how long did the Tribunal give us?"

"One week." Strickler replied, "I sent a text message to Blinky. He should be picking up the books we need and a fresh batch of Elixlore."

Jim grimaced. "I tried to use that to study. It tastes like---wait."

He suddenly sat up, his attention drawn to a swirling black vortex that materilaized above the coffee-table.

Strickler jumped to his feet. Instinctively, he raised one arm out, blocking Jim from approaching whatever threat might come through the portal.

Which just happened to a bag of paper plates, and four triple Meatzzas.

Extra carnivore.

Claire emerged shortly after.

"Miss Nunez," Strickler said slowly, "Are you using Angor Rot's _Skathe Hrun_ , an unsacred artifact of Our Lady Creator, for _snack runs_? Do you have any idea how dangerous that sort of eldritch magic can be?"

  
"Was Angor Rot's, now it's mine. And we aren't in school, so you can't lecture me." She gave a shrug, twirling the staff before sticking it into her jacket.

"Foods here!"

As if summoned by the scent of pizza, Toby quickly entered the room, followed by Arrrggghhh. The former Gumm-Gumm wore a colorful splash of bandaids like military ribbons, and he looked just as proud of them.

Kovi and NotEnrique clung to Arrrgghh's mane, but as soon as she caught sight of the food, Kovi launched herself over his horns.

"PIZZA!" She squealed with all the shrill, unbridled joy that unhealthy food brings to children. 

"OI! Watch it!" NotEnrique lunged forward, catching a handful of Arrrgghh's fur in one hand, and the back of Kovi's shirt in the other. The halfling whelp dangled there, grinning from ear to ear. 

Arrrgghh crouched low so that NotEnrique could set Kovi down. 

As soon as her paws touched the ground, Kovi was off like a rocket.

"You two seem to be getting along well." Strickler side-eyed NotEnrique. The smaller changeling shrugged, hopping down.

"She's been having a hard go of it since movin' ta Trollmarket." He explained, "The other kids pick on her. Call her names, stealin' her lunch, and we ain't even told her about the Trial. She think's her dad's on a secret mission for the Janus Order."

"You haven't told her about her father?" Strickler repeated, a growl edging his words.

"Uh, can't talk!" NotEnrique jumped onto the coffee table, shoving a fistful of pizza into his mouth. "Gud meh muff fuh!"

"Hey! Wait your turn!" Claire grabbed the changeling by the scruff as Toby snuck in to grab a few slices.

"Dibs on the corner piece!" He declared.

"I want bones on mine!" Kovi announced.

Arrrgghh didn't descend on the feast like Strickler expected. Instead, he paused and stared at the changeling.

Strickler folded his arms across his chest, staring back.

Arrrggghhh brought his head down, nostrils flaring. He drew in a slow breath, then huffed.

The fur on his scruff stood on end.

"Smell Gunmar." he said.

"Yes, Well..." Strickler swallowed, then cleared his throat. "He does tend to leave an impression on people. And that's just from our brief conversations. You should get a whiff of Dictatious after an entire day standing beside the Skullcrusher."

Arrrgghh rumbled quietly, but said nothing. 

Kovi ran past them, an entire pizza box held over her head like a trophy. 

Arrrgghh's gaze lingered on strickler for a moment before he turned his attention to catching the whelp.

Strickler let out the breath he'd been holding. 

As he watched, Jim crept closer to the Pizza boxes. The Trollhunter gathered his courage, then jumped into the flurry of hungry trolls and teenagers, dodging cheese and marinara shrapnel to emerge mostly unscathed with three greasy slices.

Triumphant, Jim turned, carried the plate over to the couch, then handed it to his history teacher.

"I know a place that sells Nylarlagroth eggs, if you miss them." he said.

Strickler made a show of rolling his eyes as he took the plate, and Jim reacted with a tired, hopeful sort of smile.

Strickler felt a brief, fierce flare of affection at that smile.

"Wait a second," Claire sat down beside Jim, balancing five slices to share. "Mr. Strickler, How did you get out of the Darklands?

Strickler settled back with his pizza.

"It's a long story." He replied, crossing his leg at the ankle. "Before we get into that, I want you to tell me everything we know about what happened with Ceb and the Troll Whelp."

  
"Wait, did Arrrggghhh step in before or after Ceban yelled at Krel?"

"Not Krel." Toby piped up. "The little guy's name was Kjell."

"What sorta name is Krel?" NotEnrique scoffed.

Fifteen minutes in to the story and Strickler's headache was already coming back.

"After." Arrrgghh clarified. He pinned Kovi down with one hand, trying to pick chunks of cheese and sausage out of her hair.

Strickler lifted a slice of pizza to his mouth, frowned, then set it back down.

"So you're telling me that Ceb was seen yelling at Kjell." Strickler repeated, to be sure he understood, "Understandably, since the whelp had been bullying Kovi. Ceb reacts like any other father. Kjell goes missing, and an hour later, Ceb runs out of his hut..."

"Holding Kjell, and calling for a healer." Jim finished. 

Strickler glanced toward Kovi. Arrrgghh cradled the halfling in his forearm, the way a Gorilla might. She responded with a few little grunts and grumbles of protest, trying to keep her eyes open.

"Did _she_ see anything?" Strickler asked quietly.

"She saw a bunch of Trolls drag her dad away." Claire answered, "Kovi's acting brave, but if you ask her about it, she just...sort of goes quiet."

Arrrgghh tightened his grip on the whelp, tucking her into his chest fur. Her small fingers dug into his mane, and she curled in closer to him. With one more growl, she closed her eyes and they stayed shut.

"Honestly?" Toby quipped, "I don't blame her." He grabbed a mermaid-patterned blanket off the floor, carrying it over to Arrrggghhh. "Kids get stressed; They cry, scream, and roll around on the ground. You ask me, they're just doing what we all wanna do."

  
Strickler picked up his pizza slice, his brow furrowed as he tried to think. Once more, he leaned in to take a bite. 

Once more, he let out a distracted growl and set it down.

"I don't understand." He murmured, "If Ceb wanted to teach Kjell a lesson, he wouldn't have called for a healer. How can the Tribunal think this was intentional?"

"That is the rub, isn't it?" came a warm, richly accented reply.

Strickler glanced up just in time to see a walking stack of books moving toward him. He barely had time to dodge as the stack collapsed, revealing the four-armed troll behind them.

"These should cover everything you need to know." Blinky stepped back, dusting off his hands. "There's An Analysis of Troll Law, volumes one through sixteen, The Rule of Heartstone, by the Venerable Bedehilde, and sixty two of Bodus' essays on 'In Defense of The Indefensible.'"

Jim and Claire began gathering the scattered books as Strickler pushed himself up. 

"And how long does a Troll usually study law before confronting the Tribunal?" he demanded, watching a swarm of gnomes carry away his fallen pizza.

"Oh, two centuries for criminal defense." Blinky considered a moment, "Four if you want to specialize in property laws." 

"Please, tell us you got the Elixlore." Jim didn't sound hopeful.

Blinky cleared his throat, clasping one set of hands behind his back, twiddling his fingers with the other.

"Unfortunately, It would seem Rot Gut's declines to do business with certain members of our cortège, who shall remain nameless. They did request that I inform you all that their discretion has nothing to do with the person being a changeling, but everything to do with the fact that he is, indeed, a glorkhole. Their words, not mine."

Toby snrked but quickly smoothed his expression after a stern rumble from Arrrgghh.

"However," Blinky patted his pockets, then pulled out a folded parchment. "I WAS able to obtain this _recipe_ for Elixlore." 

Strickler stared at the proffered paper a moment. Then, he took the recipe and tucked it into his jacket.

"I'll have a look at it after I've talked with Ceb." 

He stood and started toward the door, shifting once more to Troll form. If he hurried, he might be able to find that food stall again.

"Mr. Strickler, Wait."

Strickler glanced back. 

"What is it, Jim?"

The Trollhunter looked like he was having a silent debate with himself. Then, reluctantly,

"They only let us visit Ceb as certain times. You won't be able to talk to him until tomorrow morning. So...why don't you..."

Jim grimaced, as if the words brought him physical pain.

"why don't you come over, and we'll check out the Elixlore recipe."

Strickler was able to resist insulting the Trollhunter. He could resist manipulating him.

He could resist nearly anything, except an opening like that.

"That sounds like a good idea. We'll need to make a stop, however."

Jim nodded, "Drive Thru?"

"Flower shop. and a gas station, for breath mints."


	5. The More Things Change...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trollhunter and Spymaster have come a long way since the Battle of Two Bridges, but trust is earned when actions meet words. And Strickler has a long list of actions to make up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this strange universe, Gunmar's ill-fated soulmate spell forced Strickler to return to Arcadia Oaks sometime around the end of Grand Theft Otto, a full ten episodes earlier than his canon return.
> 
> Because he returned after two weeks away, he was able to explain his absence as a family emergency.  
> Because he was able to explain his absence, he and Barbara have only grown closer in the past two years.  
> And because they've grown closer, Strickler is all the more determined to protect her.
> 
> Even if it means putting up with Jim.

  
James Lake Junior brought the salt water to a roiling boil then added a generous helping of Bucatini pasta.

He gave the pasta three good stirs before he turned to the sink; washing his hands for exactly two minutes. Humming 'Pyr Gint,' he got to work on the meatballs.

The Trollhunter kneaded together ground pork, veal, and beef, working the meat until the garlic and other seasonings blended in evenly. After forming them into balls, he washed his hands again, then added the meatballs to a simmering pot of marinara sauce.

Jim didn't turn so much as he twirled, the stress and anxiety of the past week fading as he lost himself in the act of cooking.

He used a pair of tongs to transfer the Bucatini into a colander. 

Once it was drained, he tossed the pasta in with a generous splash of olive oil, sighing as fragrant steam rose from the pan.

Jim used a fork to test a bite of it. The pasta was just this side of al dente.

With a flourish, he added it to the sauce.

Once his mother's dinner was finished, he walked into the dining room and placed a perfectly adequate peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of Strickler.

The changeling glanced toward the kitchen, then back to the sandwich.

"I suppose I deserve that." He admitted. He dug into the sandwich as he gave the Elixlore recipe another once over.

"Did Gunmar say why he let you out early? Is the Heartstone almost finished?" Jim asked, passing Strickler a glass of milk.

Strickler finished the peanut butter and jelly in four bites, chewing more slowly than he needed to. This wasn't a discussion he wanted to have.

"Did you give your mother my postcard?"

Luckily, he knew exactly how to redirect the conversation. 

"The only reason you're allowed anywhere _near_ my mom." Jim growled, pointing an accusing finger, "Is because you---"

"Promised to protect her. I know." Strickler wiped his mouth with a napkin. "and I will."

"That isn't what I was going to say." Jim dropped into a chair, resting his head against his forearms.

The changeling drained the glass of milk as he debated how to turn the conversation.

Apologize, admonish, or...

"Jim, If it's any consolation, I had every intention of staying away." 

Excuses. A cornerstone for changeling survival.

"I didn't expect your mother to remember me after the unbinding. When we bumped into each other, I couldn't bring myself to hurt her again."

"She remembered dating you," Jim answered, "But you could've done the right thing and broken it off."

Strickler, who had been alive for over a thousand years, balked at the thought of being lectured by someone who couldn't legally drink.

"You can't keep her safe on your own." he growled, "You couldn't even balance your schoolwork and a _play_!"

"Yeah? Well who did I have to keep her safe from?" Jim shot back, " _You_ dragged her into this! _You_ tried to destroy the world, and when I stopped you, _you're_ the one who summoned a zombie assassin to kill me!"

"I wasn't trying to destroy the world, I was trying to secure a place for Changelings! And Angor---"

Strickler stopped, taking a slow breath to calm himself.

Quietly, he began to gather his dishes.

"Angor was a mistake. One of many. But Young Atlas, it's been two years. Haven't I redeemed myself?"

"You made up for trying to kill me, not for the creepy spell you put on my mom." Jim took the dishes from him, then started toward the kitchen.

Strickler lowered his head, and the trollhunter's expression softened. Just a little

"So," Jim stated, "what do we need to get for the Elixlore?"

"Actually, I have most of these things in my office." Strickler pulled out the recipe, "Standard magic ingredients. Bloody Finger, Cat's Foot, Man's Bile. The Lady's Meat is unexpected, but it should be simple enough to procure."

"It is... _absolutely terrifying_ that you just have those things on hand." Jim looked a little green as he returned. "Did you say _Lady's Meat_?"

"You haven't read a word of those garden troll herbology books, have you?" Strickler shook his head, tutting, "When it comes to magic, Eye of Newt is never Eye of Newt. In this case, the Recipe is calling for Foxglove, Ivy, Turnip Sap and Mayflower blossoms."

  
"I read some of them!" Jim protested. "It's just that magic never seem to work out well for me, you know? The Furgolator was a nightmare, the Grit Shaka was even worse, and the Kairosect was---"

Jim stopped suddenly, giving his teacher a side-eyed look.

"No, go on." Strickler crossed his arms. "What about the kairosect?"

"Uh, nothing."

The Trollhunter's expression told Strickler he should move away from the subject.

"Yes, well, you won't always be able to stab your way out of a bad situation, Young Atlas. Many trolls aren't acquainted with modern terminology. You never know when you might need to translate. Try this one. The 23rd Rib of a _Cucurbita Styriaca_." Strickler sat back, lifting his eyebrows expectantly.

"That isn't Old World! That's Latin!" Jim crossed his arms, thinking. "Is it the rib of someone suffering from back pain? 'Cause if it is, then no way. I'm not killing anyone."

"Back pain?" Strickler repeated. Realization struck him, and he slowly ran his hand down the front of his face.

" _Styriaca,_ not _Sciatica_. _Cucurbrita Styriaca_. It means---"

**"Walt?"**

As the front door slammed shut, all thoughts of magic and medical maladies vanished. Strickler reached for the bouquet of flowers, only to find a damp spot where he'd set them.

He shot an accusing glare toward the Trollhunter. Jim replied with an innocent smile and an exaggerated shrug.

It was clear that Barbara Lake was just coming off a twelve hour shift. Her hair was frizzled and out of place, there was an unidentifiable stain on the shoulder of her scrubs, and her lipstick was dull; faded on the rims of countless styrofoam cups full of coffee.

She was absolutely breathtaking, and Strickler wasted no time in pulling her into his arms and kissing those off-red lips.

"What are you doing here?" She smiled up at him, giving him one more squeeze before drawing back. "I didn't plan on seeing you again until January!"

"Planning is indispensable." Strickler replied, holding her hands. "But if there's anything I've learned, it's that plans are useless. Especially when it comes to a jellyfish outbreak and mass crab migration."

"Oh, Walt! Your vacation!" In spite of her exhaustion, Barbara made the proper sympathetic noises, and Strickler barely resisted the urge to kiss her again.

"Well, the substitute history teacher is on contract. In hindsight, a tropical vacation doesn't sound nearly as nice as a stay-cation with the people I care about."

"Yooouuu must be starving, mom!" Jim quickly cut in, managing to push his way between them. He took his mother's purse and hung it on the coatrack. "Why don't you get comfortable while I set the table."

Barbara and Strickler shared a brief, knowing look. Obligingly, Strickler gave her a last quick peck, then started toward the kitchen.

"By all means, Jim, you've had a long day. Allow me."

"You really don't have to, Mr. Strickler."

"It's no trouble. After all, I know where everything is."

A short time later, the three of them sat around the dining room table. Jim with a soda, Strickler with ginger tea; and Barbara between them, sighing over a plate of her favorite pasta.

"I hate being the only one eating," She admitted, "Are you boys sure you don't want me to whip something up? It'd only take a minute to bake a pie."

"NO!" Strickler and Jim both shouted in unison.

"We ate earlier." Strickler clarified, trying not to stare at a chip near the edge of the table. He was fairly certain it came from his chin. "Did you get my postcard?"

Barbara's eyes widened, and she covered her mouth to hide the fact she was trying not to laugh with her mouth full.

"I did! And I seriously thought about breaking up with you." She answered.

"You _really_ shouldn't second guess yourself, Mom." Jim muttered. 

"So, I overheard you two talking about pumpkins. Halloweens in a few weeks, were you thinking of carving some?" Barbara asked.

"Pumpkins?" Jim repeated.

" _Cucurbrita Styriaca_ , That's a type of pumpkin, right?" Barbara's gaze softened, "We used to carve them every year. Do you remember the petting zoo at Mr. McGregor's Pumpkin Patch? Aw..."

She set her fork down, reminiscing.

"You were so good with the animals. The sheep were your favorite. You'd always pick a pumpkin that was too big for you, but you still tried to carry it. After we got it to the car, you'd tug on my hand and say "I wanna pet the piggies and the yams, Mom! The piggies and the yams. I remember you crying and hugging one of the lambs when it was time to go. "Goodbye, yam, I'll miss you.' You loved that pumpkin patch."

"Yeah, Mom." Jim sank a bit lower in his seat, "When I was four."

Strickler cleared his throat, making a subtle gesture toward the elixlore recipe. he had no need to, because Jim took immediate notice of his mother's nostalgia. 

"Then again, you're never too old for Halloween." Jim leaned back in his seat, stretching. "Is McGregor's still around?"

"It looks like it is!" Barbara exclaimed after a quick search on her phone.

"We could make a day of it!" Strickler declared, bringing his palms together, "Petting zoo, fresh apple cider, and a quest for the perfect pumpkin."

"My next day off is---" Barbara's smile faded, and she rubbed her eyes. "Tomorrow. And then I've got back to back shifts all week. I could make it work, but you just got back from Bermuda. I'm sure you don't want to be running around, and--"

Strickler scooted his chair closer, slipping an arm around her.

"Tomorrow is perfect. Consider it a date." He flashed Barbara his most winning grin.

A sharp kick to his shin made Strickler clamp his teeth together, swallowing a snarl. Effectively, this took his charming smile and made it resemble something closer to a look of constipation.

He wondered if he could win Barbara over to the idea of boarding school.

"Mr. Strickler, don't you have that museum thing in the morning? With Mr. Smith?" Jim asked pointedly.

Strickler made a show of taking his pen and planner out of his front pocket.

"I've taken that into account. A meeting with the Volunteer Board should take up my morning, but I'm free the rest of the day. Why don't I pick the two of you up around twelve?"

"That sounds like a lot of fun." Barbara reached forward, and Strickler turned his hand palm-up to greet hers. Their fingers locked together perfectly, and Strickler couldn't resist lifting the back of her hand to his lips.

Jim kicked him again, and this time he retaliated with a good dose of changeling strength.

His foot connected with something solid, and Strickler gave the Trollhunter a smirk.

 **"OW!"** Barbara let out a yelp, drawing back.

His smirk vanished.

"Mom!" Jim was on his feet in an instant, helping her up.

"I'm so sorry!" Walt pushed his chair away, taking her other arm. "The doctor said there might be muscle spasms, from the jellyfish sting! Can I get you an ice pack?"

"It's fine," Barbara insisted. The two of them helped her hobble to the couch. She sat down, rolling up her pantleg to show a quickly forming bruise.

"There's a bag of peas in the freezer." Jim said, helping his mother set her leg on the coffee table

"On it." Strickler headed toward the kitchen.

He rummaged around in the freezer, pushing aside cartons of ice cream and frozen nougat nummies until he came across the peas.

As he swung the freezer door shut, he noticed his postcard, taped to the freezer door.

In spite of the Trollhunter's mistrust. In spite of Gunmar's demands, in spite of the trial,

Strickler looked at it, and he smiled.


	6. Cold Hands Warm Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler has a number of thing's on his mind after talking with Ceb. Barbara is determined to force him to have fun.

An old philosopher once said that good decisions are based on knowledge, not numbers. Yet as Strickler turned the pumpkin over in his hands, all could think about were the numbers.

**Five, six, seven.**

Numbers determined battles. Numbers won wars.

_"I'm almost impressed, Ceban. Single-handedly, You've managed to undo nearly everything we've worked toward. "_

Justice for one changeling, or the trust of thousands of trolls.

**Eight, Nine, Ten.**

Numbers were incorrupptable. Numbers never lied.

_"Kovi isn't a troll, she can't eat garbage! We left everything behind when the Janus Order called on volunteers for reintegration. Making sure she could eat tomato sandwhiches didn't seem like much to ask!"_

**Ten, Eleven, and twelve...**

Wait, did he count that rib twice?

"Darn it."

Strickler turned the pumpkin over in his hand, using his thumbnail to mark a crease in the plant's rind. The one they chose had to have at least twenty-three ribs, or it wouldn't work for the Elixlore. Counting pumpkin segments was almost as mind-numbing as grading papers. The task was that much harder because he couldn't stop replaying his conversation with Ceban.

  
_"Your stupidity is truly astounding. It doesn't matter what you were using the UV lights for. They are forbidden in Trollmarket. You, a representative for your people, smuggled in contraband. Not just any contraband, but a weapon! And that weapon nearly took the hand off one of your enemies! If you wanted to get away with taking revenge for your daughter, you would have been better off killing Kjell!"_

_Ceban threw himself against the bars of his cage._

_"I would never hurt a youngling!" he shouted, the words ending in a vulpine snarl, "I volunteered in the Janus Order's nursery for Argante's Sake! If anything, I would've confronted Kjell's parents! What kind of person would go after a whelp?"_

_"A troll would, Ceban! A troll would go after the whelp, that is why there are trollish laws, that is why you are being judged as a troll!"_

_"BUSHIGAL! I will never be a troll to them, and neither will my daughter!"_

_Ceban dropped to the floor of his cage, drawing his knees to his chest._

_"The only reason i agreed to any of this; trusting you, trusting the Trollhunter, ANY of it, was for her, Stricklander. You're a changeling. You know what it's like to grow up alone. We never had the safety of a tribe. I wanted better for Kovi."_

_Ceban's tail curled around his ankles, as if he were trying to make himself as small as he felt._

_"So I decided to trust you, and I thought 'maybe he means it.' He really does want a better world for changelings, just like I want a better world for my daughter. I'm not a spy, Strickler. I'm a maintenance worker. I've never done much for the Janus Order, but this time, I just thought..."_

_The caged changeling shook his head._

_"I thought I could help make a difference."_

_Stricklander nodded, then he lifted his travel bag into his lap. Wordlessly, he opened it, pawing through the clutter of magical artifacts and papers. After a minute's search, he found a greasy fast-food bag._

_"I've looked into your file at the Janus Order. I know you wouldn't hurt a child, Ceban, but I needed to be absolutely sure. Here. I know from experience they don't make a habit of feeding prisoners in the stronghold."_

_Ceban seemed confused at Stricklander's change in tone, but he accepted the paper bag. After peering inside, he pulled out a cold cheeseburger and began to disassemble it._

_"I didn't do anything to it." Stricklander groused as the changeling picked the burger apart, looking for any signs of a curse._

_Ceban turned his hawkish gaze to Stricklander. Without breaking eye contact, he tore off a piece of cheeseburger and dropped it to the floor of the stronghold._

_A blue-capped gnome stuck it's head out from behind a rock. It scented the air then scurried over the morsel. Ceban watched carefully as it fed. When the gnome showed no symptoms of being poisoned, he settled back in his cage and began to eat._

_"I've been meaning to ask you about Kovi." Stricklander stated, ignoring the snub. "I checked your records. You didn't apply for a marriage permit. You never put in for brood leave. You didn't report her birth, and there isn't a single file on her lineage. She's an unregistered whelp."_

_Ceban stopped, mid-chew. Slowly, his ears began to settle flat against his skull, and he held his head low, as if to brace himself._

_Stricklander noticed, and weighed his words carefully. He was well aware of how heavily the answer could fall._   
_"_

_Kovi wasn't authorized by the Janus Order because she wasn't commissioned. She's half Gumm-gumm, isn't she, Ceban?"_

Strickler jolted as a slender pair of arms slipped around his waist. 

"Has it told you its secrets?"

Barbara Lake rested her chin on top of his shoulder, her chest a gentle warmth pressed against his back.

"You've been staring at that pumpkin for five minutes." She stated, "Maybe if we try good-cop bad-cop, it'll spill it's guts."

Strickler let out a quick breath through his nose. 

"I'm sorry. Where _is_ my mind today?" he chuckled in an apologetic sort of way. 

Strickler crouched down. His limbs were still a sore from sparring in The Crucible, and he couldn't contain a faint groan as he returned the pumpkin to the ground. 

Barbara offered him a hand and he accepted it gratefully.

"Walt, You're freezing!" Barbara exclaimed after helping him up. She pressed his hands between her palms.

"Alright, what's bothering you?" 

Strickler opened his mouth to protest, then quickly closed it.

"And don't say it's nothing. I know your hands get cold when you're upset." She gazed at him sternly over the rim of her glasses. 

Barbara's hands were only half the size of his, but in spite of that, Strickler found himself feeling much warmer.

"I'm just worrying over returning to work." He answered, "You know how it is."

"I get that." Barbara grimaced a little. It had taken a team effort for Strickler and Jim to convince her to turn her phone off for the day.

She brushed her thumb over his knuckle, looking thoughtful. Then, with a knowing glint in her eye, Barbara tugged him toward the animal pens.

"I've got just the thing." She announced, "It's a scientific fact that soft, fluffy things reduce stress. Medical Science. Trust me, I'm a doctor."

"Oh, I trust you, it's just that..." Strickler glanced back toward the Trollhunter, hoping that Jim's habit of butting in might be his salvation.

The Trollhunter was completely engrossed with a pumpkin half the size of his vespa. Jim snapped a picture of the massive gourd, then quickly began texting. 

Informing the Puberty Patrol of his discovery, no doubt.

"Soft, fluffy things tell the brain to make oxytocin." Barbara explained, "Petting them decreases cortisol, and honestly I want an excuse to get a picture of you next to that llama."

She traded a dollar for a paper cup full of pellets and a small assortment of animals began to gather near the fence. 

Strickler took a step back and watched the creatures flock to Barbara. A spotted donkey nudged an overly-eager emu aside as a brindle goat let out a terrifyingly human shout of excitement. He never thought he'd attribute the word 'giggle' to a grown woman, but there was no other way to describe the delightful sounds that came from his Barbara as she fed the goat.

She noticed him watching, and returned his smile. 

"You know, Walt, I don't mind listening if you want to just vent. It's not good to keep that sort of thing bottled up." 

Strickler knelt, grabbing a handful of grass before making his way over to the pen.

"It's nothing worth mentioning. Besides, I don't want to bore you to death with a rant on the current state of public education."

From experience, he expected the animals to give him a wide berth in spite of the pro-offered greens. Some animals could sense the presence of a changeling, and were just as wary of them as they would be of any predator.

To his surprise, a cloud colored alpaca considered his offering, then started toward him.

The Changeling and Camelid sized each other up for a moment. The Alpaca took a cautious step forward, setting its ears back.

"If you spit on me, you don't live to regret it." Strickler hissed under his breath, too quietly for anyone to hear.

The alpaca didn't spit on him. Instead, it tugged the grass from his hand, chewing lazily before snuffing against his palm in search of more. 

Strickler was taken aback, but in spite of his surprise, he began to smile. He reached forward, gently running his hand along the beast's velvety snout.

"You can stop sucking up, I'm not buying you any pellets." Strickler scoffed as the Alpaca leaned against the wire fence, demanding more attention. 

The animal seemed to have relaxed completely. it looked dopey and unconcerned, eyes half-lidded as it brought its snout in close to his face. 

He began to stroke the warm fur of the aplacas neck, and in spite of his best efforts, Strickler found himself charmed. 

"Hold that pose." Barbara turned her phone to the side, snapping a picture before Strickler realized what she was doing. 

"FINALLY! I found it!" Jim shouted his triumph an instant later. He lifted a stout pumpkin into the air, holding it over his head with the pride of an Archeologist who just uncovered the holy grail.

"Well done, Jim. You found a pumpkin." Strickler stated as Jim brought it over. He took the plant, turning it and counting the ribs. "Your math checks out. This is, indeed, the perfect pumpkin." 

Jim didn't answer. He was staring at the animals, only half listening. It was clear that he wanted to go over to them. 

Wanted to, but he wouldn't.

The Trollhunter had turned eighteen a few months ago. He was becoming a young man. Modern society proclaimed that young men weren't allowed to enjoy petting zoos. It wasn't 'normal'. People would think he's 'off.'

Strickler felt a sharp pang of pity. The Trollhunter was at a crossroads. Childhood was firmly behind him, adulthood loomed ahead, and the Amulet's mantle hung heavier than ever.

Jim was barely pulling C's in his classes. How much harder would it be, to juggle college courses with his Trollhunting duties?

Would he be expected to work a full time Job while chasing rouge gnomes? Trollhunting didn't pay rent. Would he be able to afford a house in Arcadia? An Apartment?

And what if he was hurt? Would Trollmarket pay for his hospital bills, once he aged out of his mothers insurance?

James Lake Jr saved the world more than once. He nearly died at the hands of blood-thirsty trolls, yet he was too afraid about what society might think to pet a Llama.

Strickler decided then and there that he was having exactly none of that. Jim had the rest of his life to conform.

"Alright, now let's get one with the two of you." He set the pumpkin aside, took Barbara's phone and stepped back; waving for the Lake family to stand together. "Don't worry, Young Atlas. I absolutely won't pin this picture to the announcement board for all your classmates to see."

"Wait, right now?" Jim protested as his mother grabbed his shoulder, guiding him over to the pen. "I'm covered in leaves!"

Barbara knelt down and grabbed a few pumpkin leaves, crumbling them in her hand and tossing them onto the front of her blouse.

"There, now we match." She put an arm around his shoulders, and reluctantly, he stood up a bit straighter, looking toward the camera.

"On the count of three, everyone." Strickler announced, "Say cheese. once, two, and---" 

"Nacho!"

"Queso!"

Jim and Barbara spoke in perfect unison, surprising each other. Jim shot his mother a horrified look when he realized he'd been caught acting like her. Barbara burst out laughing at his expression, and at that exact moment, the alpaca decided to lean forward and try a nibble of her hair.

It looked staged. Staged and cheesy and vapid, and absolutely everything Strickler once thought he hated about modern humanity. 

Strickler snapped the picture. Even without the camera, he would've remembered this image of Jim and Barbara Lake for the rest of his life.

As the Trollhunter tried to save his mother from a hungry Llama, Strickler thought once more about numbers. 

Numbers won battles. Numbers determined wars.

But some numbers were more than others in unexpected ways.

Sometimes, in spite of everything, two is greater than one thousand.

One thousand years years of machinations. One thousand years of subjugation, back-stabbing, social-climbing and survival. One thousand years, thinking he knew exactly where his place in the world was and what he was willing to do to maintain it.

One thousand years, measured against two human lives.

Well, Strickler's specialty was teaching history.

He never claimed to be good at math.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will reunite Strickler and Gunmar in unexpected ways.


	7. A Series of Natural Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler's date doesn't end quite as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a very brief, non-explicit mention of non-con toward the end as something that happens to changelings.

The Changeling's arm was stiff as a dead snake as he brought it to rest around the Trollhunter's shoulders.

Reluctantly, Jim leaned in close to Strickler. His blue eyes were glazed with the queasy horror of someone dealing with a dead reptile on their shoulders. A pained grin stretched across his cheeks, perfectly mirroring his teacher's expression.

For the fifth time in a row, Barbara leveled the camera at them.

"It's a photo, boys, not a firing squad." She chuckled, shaking her head, "Alright, last one, I promise."

The little white light on the phone began to blink, and Barbara let out a huff.

"Low battery. Wait right here, you two, I'm going to grab the car charger. Anyone want cider?"

The two of them eagerly agreed that cider sounded perfect, and Barbara hurried away toward the gift shop.

As soon as she was out of sight, Jim and Strickler pushed away from each other.

" _Please tell me_ you have some sort of spy tech to get rid of those pictures." Jim groaned, turning to lean against the fence.

"Far be it for me to suggest misusing Janus Order resources. But in this case, I'll make an exception." Strickler propped his elbows on the edge of the animal pen.

There was something about the autumn-scented air and quiet knickering of animals that almost made him glad his plans for revolution and conquest had failed. While this certainly wasn't the future he'd expected, in this moment, he felt very close to content with his lot in life.

With a faint smile, he watched as his former nemesis fed money into the pellet vending machine.

"So, this morning, Did you find anything that might help?" Jim reached over the fence, hand outstretched to offer feed to the animals. A grand looking emu immediately took notice and stepped forward, quirking its head with the air of a king examining a peasant's tribute.

"I'm afraid Ceban didn't have much to offer." Strickler replied, "At least nothing that I hadn't already figured out."

"Blinky says that it might be a conspiracy. I think he's right. Ow! Easy, big guy." Jim winced as the emu began to peck greedily at his hand. He reached out; petting the the bird's feathers to try and calm it. "Some of the trolls are still upset about the Trollmarket Changelings. Framing Ceb could be the first step to getting rid of them. Ouch!"

The emu's beak pinched the webbing between the Trollhunter's fingers. A few drops of blood beaded on his hand, and he stepped back, tossing the rest of the feed into the pen.

"All we have to do is find out who set him up. If we can prove someone else wanted Ceb gone then the Tribunal will have to believe us." Jim finished, sticking his hands in his pockets to protect them.

"That would be an excellent suggestion, if you weren't completely off-base." Strickler scoffed. "Blinky thinks everything's a conspiracy, and in this case, a frame up simply isn't the answer. I _know_ what happened. It's _clear_ what happened. The question is how to spin it in a way that keeps Ceban out of Gatto's Keep."

"So what did Ceb say to you?" Jim asked.

The Emu pecked at his hoodie to demand more food.

"These are the facts, as presented by both Ceban and your witnesses. He caught Kjell cornering Kovi and yelled at him. Kjell's mother took exception to this and tried to pick a fight with Ceban. Aaarrrgghh stepped in and Blinky took Ceban on a walk to calm down. An hour later, Kjell goes missing, and they find him in Ceban's house with a burned hand. You really can't piece together what happened, Young Atlas?"

"Sooo...Is that all you and Ceb talked about?" The Trollhunter pried, avoiding the question.

"Yes, that's all. I'm flattered by your faith in me, but even I need more than a day to find a way to clear our friend." 

"You're lying."

Strickler set his lips in a stern line and said nothing.

Jim squared his shoulders. Strickler could hear the dryness in his mouth as he spoke.

"Krax was on guard duty. He told Blinky that you looked afraid when you left the Stronghold. Why? What did Ceb say that scared you?" 

A cool wind whispered through the field around them. Something prickled against the back of Strickler's neck, and without thinking, he reached up to scratch it.

He realized an instant too late how similar the gesture looked to his fléchette attack.

Jim's hand plunged into his pocket, the Amulet of Daylight glowing blue through the fabric.

The fierce vigilance in the Trollhunter's eyes reminded Strickler of another autumn day. Another tense discussion.

  
**_Give me the Amulet!_ **

**_You want the Amulet? Come and take it!_ **

Jim's voice hadn't wavered then, either. Not even with a set of claws crushing his throat.

"Young Atlas-"

Strickler spoke calmly, bringing his arm down. 

"-What Ceban and I discussed had nothing to do with the trial, or trollhunting. It was a personal matter involving Kovi's Father."

He noticed a flicker of confusion on the Trollhunter's face.

"It's different for Trolls, Jim. That isn't the point."

Strickler wasn't in any hurry to have _that_ conversation. Hopefully, he could push it off onto Blinky. 

"The point is that there are certain aspects of Changeling life that should stay between changelings. I understand your misgivings, But Ceban's already been stripped of his liberty. The least we can do for him is respect his privacy."

Jim looked doubtful but finally, he drew his hand out of his pocket. 

Strickler sighed with relief. He was about to crack a joke to ease the tension, something about a tree being absent with out leaf, but before he could, he noticed a dark blur of motion from the corner of his eye.

"Look out!" 

The Trollhunter froze in disbelief as the emu cleared the fence in a single jump, bringing Its talons down toward his face with the instinct to blind.

Jim's training saved his sight. He stepped back, throwing his forearms together to form a shield for his eyes. The filth-encrusted claws slashed through his sleeves and knocked him back.

Time seemed to slow, and Strickler's senses sharpenened to a pinpoint precision. 

Sound. Sight. Taste.

From far away, Strickler heard a woman scream. He saw Barbara running toward them, and the Trollhunter scrambling for his amulet. 

He saw on-lookers whipping out their cellphones to record the attack.

He saw the bird bring its full weight down on Jim's chest; pinning him. 

He saw his student struggling to breathe.

For an instant, Strickler was struck by the sheer absurdity of the situation. He thought about how bravely the Trollhunter faced down trolls, and now he was about to be killed by a mindless animal..

And then there was no thought at all. There was only anger and action.

Strickler drove his shoulder into the bird's midsection; arms clamping around the beast in a rugby tackle.

He could hear Barbara shouting her sons name behind him.

He could hear the the animal's breathy hiss as it kicked against his stomach. 

And then, Strickler could taste blood when his teeth closed on the Emu's neck.

"An Emu." The trollhunter said in disbelief as the paramedics looked him over.

"An emu. _Really_? An Emu?" He repeated, as they loaded his stretcher onto the ambulance. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to ride with?" Strickler asked, touching Barbara's elbow.

"Yes. No. That was--I don't---" She stopped, voice cracking as she looked from him to the ambulance, just once. 

"Barbara, I swear, I don't know what came over me. I just..."

"We'll talk later, Walt." 

"Of course." Strickler nodded numbly. 

Her lips were cold as she pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then, she climbed into the ambulance next to her son.

Someone in a 'staff' vest approached Strickler as they drove off. The worker waved a handful of papers; talking in a falsely apologetic tone about 'no-fault' and 'limited liability.'

From behind the pen, the limping emu made a grumbling noise. Alive, but indignant about being blindsided. 

Strickler barely heard what the staff member was saying to him. He was too focused on the onlookers.

There weren't many, just a few small families.

But each and every one of them was gawking at him, disturbed and confused.

They looked like they'd just seen a troll. 

"Listen, you saw what happened. The kid was harassing it. Technically, we should be the one pressing charges. But we're willing to let this go, so long as you are. Teenagers, am I right?"

For a brutal instant, Strickler barely supressed the urge to strangle the small, beady-eyed farm worker. To change then and there and snap his neck like a pencil

Instead, he brushed a few feathers from the front of his twead jacket, then gave his lapels a firm tug to straighten it. He shoved past the worker, stopping only to pick up his pumpkin.

Then, without knowing where he was going, Strickler climbed into his car and peeled out of the Pumpkin Patch.

Strickler had been looking forward to sleeping in his own bed. But as he pulled into the garage, the sound of his engine idling reminded him of just how empty the house would be.

He looked at his face in the rearview mirror. His hair was tosseled, and there was a small red smear on the corner of his mouth. He brushed it away without knowing if it was blood or lipstick. 

He didn't _want_ to know.

He pulled out of the driveway, unsure of his destination until he drove into the parking lot of Bright Tower Books and Novelties.

Like a sleepwalker, he put the car in park, grabbed his travel bag, and entered the store. 

"Oh, hey! Welcome back." The same mousy salesclerk greeted him from the storefront. She was balanced precariously on a rolling chair as she tried to secure a string of bat-shaped lights to the window. With her arms stretched above her head; her baggy sweatshirt was lifted. Just enough for Strickler to glimpse the gentle swell of her belly. 

For some reason, the sight did nothing for his despondence. Averting his gaze, he turned to scan the shelves, searching for a proper offering. 

"Is that real?" Strickler asked, gesturing half-heartedly at a scrimshaw buffalo skull.

The clerk hopped down, dusting her hands off as she crossed the salesfloor.

"You're looking at the bison with foliate etching? It's absolutely real, and humanely harvested from animals that die of natural causes." She ducked behind the register, pulling the skull from the shelf.

Strickler was silent as he took out his wallet. He stared down for a moment at the two hundred in twenties he'd stashed away. He had planned on surprising the Lake family with dinner at Mr. Benoit's and the latest Danger House film.

  
Wordlessly, he tossed the bills onto the counter.

"Alright! So one sixty five out of two hundred..."

The chime of the cash register was too cheerful. The Clerk was too cheerful. 

Strickler grabbed the animal skull and tucked it into his travel bag. He turned on his heel and started quickly toward the restroom.

"Wait, your change!" The clerk called after him. Fortunately, Strickler was saved from pursuit when a small pack of goth teens spilled into the store, commanding her attention.

Somehow he knew the _Inlustis Callis_ would still be there as he pushed the restroom door open. It had nothing to do with his lack of faith in Otto, although he didn't expect much from him.

Strickler just knew with a bone-deep certainty that the mirror would be there because he needed it to be.

Strickler set his travel bag onto a stone shelf, then he made his way to the bedfurs. The guards had reacted with surprise to his early return, but they quickly accepted his explanation that he needed to report on a situation in Trollmarket. 

He let himself change as he crawled into the nest. He felt the aches and pains of humanity give way to cold, hard stone as he shifted from Strickler to Stricklander.

One of the Gumm-Gumms had informed him that Gunmar was busy with his horde. They'd been given strict orders not to disturb the Warlord.

He knew he should stand at attention and wait. He should try to look unshaken and haughty and in control. Instead, Stricklander pulled a tattered bearskin over his shoulders, and pressed his face into the furs.

The nest smelled horrible, reeking from a thousand years of unwashed troll. But it was a _familiar_ sort of horrible.

Stricklander only meant to close his eyes for a moment. Just to gather his thoughts.

But some time later the rasp of heavy stone footsteps woke him.

The sound of Gunmar's breathing grew louder as the Gumm-Gumm King's heavy head came to bear above him.

"Stricklander."

The word was a command, not a question. In a moment of suicidal defiance, Stricklander squeezed his eyes shut and ignored it. 

It was a childish instinct, to pretend to be asleep. Gunmar would drag him from the bed by his neck; awake or not.

The Warlord rumbled, and a wave of sour air washed over Stricklander as Gunmar exhaled above him. The changeling willed his heart to stop racing, flinching as he braced himself for a blow.

Gunmar's palm slammed to the ground, a few inches from Stricklander's head. A moment later, he sensed the warlord's weight passing over him.

With a bear-like growl, Gunmar settled onto the bedfurs beside his Queen. 

Stricklander's eyes flew open in surprise, and he quickly closed them again as a rune-scarred forearm engulfed him, drawing him close to Gunmar's broad chest. He stayed still until The Gumm-Gumm King's throaty snores echoed through the bedchamber and only then did he allow himself to relax.

Stricklander felt immensely tired, but he didn't fall back to sleep. As Gunmar's heart thundered against his back, he found himself thinking about his conversation with Ceban.

He found himself thinking of Kovi's father.  


_"I understand." Stricklander said, lowering his gaze._

_He wasn't going to make Ceban go into detail about Kovi. There was no need. The Janus order was well aware of things that happened to the changelings who looked trollish enough to catch the eye of a Gumm-Gumm soldier. Things that happened on the outskirts of warcamps and beyond the light of the cookfires. Things that happened quickly and brutally and were never spoken of again._

_Stricklander stooped to retrieve his travel bag, as he rose to leave; Ceban reached through the bars and grabbed his cloak._

_"No, you don't understand, Stricklander."_

_Ceban's words were a snarl, and his eyes flashed like a cat's in the dim lighting of the stronghold._

_"Frull was nothing like that."_

_Stricklander stopped. It wasn't that he had any particular interest in who 'Frull' was, or what he was like. But he sensed that, more than anything, Ceban needed to be heard._  
_Stricklander was never one to believe that confession was good for the soul. But he wasn't the changeling in a cell. And if there was one thing he'd learned from his time with the Trollhunter, it was that leadership wasn't a position, so much as a choice._

_And so he turned. He gently pried Ceban's hand off his cape, and he listened._

_"Frull was my commanding officer. He was a Gumm-Gumm." Ceban closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the bars of his cage. "He butchered trolls for fun, he was rude, he had rocks for brains, and he never cleaned up after himself. Frull was a Gumm-Gumm and he was..."_

_A quiet sound came from the river-troll changeling. Something between a sob and a chuckle._

_"He was my best friend. I could tell the same joke every day for a week, and he'd always laugh like it was his first time hearing it. I hated the meat slurry they gave us as rations, so Frull used to sneak in to human villages right before the sun came up. He'd raid the gardens, and march back to camp with his arms full of fruit, looking so damn pleased with himself..."_

_Ceban chuckled, lifting his palm to his eyes._

_"He was so happy when he heard we were having a cub. Honestly, I'm not sure if he was open-minded, or empty-minded. I could see him being too stupid to realize how it would look; a Gumm-Gumm officer and a changeling. Maybe he didn't care. I'm not going to say he wasn't like the others, because he was. He called me an 'Impure' for twenty years. He didn't recognize my human form for another twenty. For the longest time, he was exactly like the others. But he changed, Stricklander. He changed for me."_

In Stricklander's experience, there were few things as certain as the knowledge that Trolls never changed.

Not trolls, and certainly not Gumm-Gumms.

Gunmar stirred in his sleep, and Stricklander absently set his claws over the warlord's knuckles, stroking his hand until the king stilled once more.

He wasn't going to be able to move until his mate woke up. Gunmar's forearm was wrapped firmly around him, and it weighed nearly as much as Stricklander's entire body. 

With a sigh, he curled closer to the warmth radiating from him mates hide. Ceban had given him a lot to think about. He anticipated at least two hours of angst and agonizing. 

But the warmth was distracting, and the ugly rhythm of Gunmar's breathing made it impossible to hear himself think. 

Stricklander didn't expect to sleep again.

But eventually, his eyes drifted shut. And it shouldn't have been surprised. After all, nothing else about this day had gone as planned.


	8. In The Language of Flowers; Jonquil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to consider. Strickler and Gunmar discuss the trial over breakfast. A normal morning in the life of a Gumm-Gumm Queen. This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but it's one I've been looking forward to writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small bit of gore and cannibalism in this chapter, right at the beginning, but its done with quickly.

Stricklander winced at the loud crack of the Stalkling's neck snapping in Gunmar's hand. He swallowed a lump in his throat; prodding at his own breakfast with a stone fork.

The lapse in conversation stretched on for a while. The silence was broken only by the wet crunching of bones.

It wasn't a rare sound at the King's table. From experience, Stricklander knew that all he could do was try to talk above it.

"Of course, I've taken into account that the most prudent action may be to vote for exile. But still, I..." 

He paused, glancing up to see if Gunmar was listening.

The Gumm-Gumm King ripped the stalkling's jaws apart like a boiled crab claw. He growled, tearing the tongue loose and popping it into his mouth before tossing the rest of the head to the floor. 

Stricklander's stomach coiled with revulsion. The horned skull landed a few inches from his bare foot, and it took all his nerve not to draw his legs up and away from the grisly thing. 

"Continue, Stricklander." Gunmar leveled a baleful gaze toward his Queen. 

"Yes," Stricklander cleared his throat. "I had hoped I could turn to your-" 

he briefly considered the word 'wisdom,' but the phrase seem disingenuous against the noise of Gunmar chewing with his mouth open.

"-your _guidance._ " Stricklander finished. "If we show our support for Ceban, then more changelings might be encouraged to give up their familiars. The more children we return to the Trollhunter, the more he'll lower his guard, the more agents we have in Trollmarket, the greater our influence."

The fork clicked quietly against his plate as he picked at his Nyarlagroth frittata. 

"However, the Trolls already assume that Ceban will be given special consideration. They expect corruption; so corruption is what they'll see if he's found innocent. It might make for good Politics to allow Ceban to rot, but we'd be foolish to believe that his death would do anything to change Trollmarket's opinion of us. We could throw him to the wolves, but then we'd be down one loyalist with no guarantee of improving our standing. "

he dropped his fork, propping his elbows on the table.

"I just keep circling back, one argument to the other." Stricklander pressed his claws to his temples; growling with frustration.

A chunk of slimy purple meat plopped onto his plate. From the way it pulsed, Stricklander guessed that it was a thymus. 

" **Eat.** " Gunmar growled, drawing his hand back. "You will need what _little_ strength you have."

Stricklander's lips twitched, but he managed a smile.

"That reminds me, I brought something for you." He grabbed his travel bag from beside his chair and slid it across the table.

Gunmar's claw came down on the bag and he dragged it closer; peering inside. 

"It isn't the flesh that you asked for," Stricklander apologized as Gunmar rummaged through the bag, "but I promise, I'll bring it to you by day's end." 

Gunmar tossed a clawful of papers to the ground, reached in---

and pulled out the bouquet of flowers that Stricklander had misplaced.

Gunmar frowned; puzzled.

The changeling froze, his nervous smile locked in place. Stricklander had two seconds to decide that explaining that the flowers were for his _other_ lover would end badly.

Since he was in Troll form, he chose to act on **instinct.**

"I saw them and thought of you."

His instincts were bad.

Gunmar pushed the stalkling carcass aside and dropped the flowers onto the table. A small pack of goblins dragged the stalkling away as Gunmar sliced through the cellophane paper. He pawed through the flowers, spreading them out before him.

"Sage blossom; 'You are in my thoughts.' Green Hortensia; remembrance." The Warlord rumbled, "Mint sprigs for warm feelings, and Zinnia..."

"'Thoughts of an absent friend.''" Stricklander finished with quiet surprise, "I had no idea you were fluent in Floriography."

Gunmar brought his fist down on the blossoms, grinding them to powder.

"It was Garden Troll code before the fleshlings stole it." 

"Yes, humanity does make a habit of that." Stricklander nodded in agreement, and used the opportunity to dump his plate while Gunmar was distracted.

The Gumm-Gummm King lifted a handful of crushed flowers to his face. His nostrils flared at he drew in their scent. 

The scent of the surface world.

"I also found this." Stricklander quickly retrieved the buffalo skull, walking around the table to offer it to him. "It's hand carved, from an animal that once roamed the surface in vast herds that stretched for miles. I hunted them once with the Chickasaw natives. They considered the bison sacred."

Gunmar lifted the skull to his face, his eyebrows furrowed with faint interest as he examined the scrimshaw carving.

"You see, Gunmar, Those patterns actually originated with seventeenth century whalers. These men would spend long periods of time at sea, hunting creatures bigger than a longship. To pass the time, they'd carve intricate artwork into walrus tusks and whalebone. The etchings could take months of effort. Even with todays technology, hand-carving that bison skull must have required weeks of precision, patience and delicacy."

Gunmar rumbled, turning the intricate skull over in his hand.

Into his mouth it went. 

Stricklander winced as Gunmar chewed, the sound of dry bones crunching made his tusks ache.

The Gumm-Gumm King swallowed and considered for a moment.

"I would not call _that_ a 'delicacy'."

"Dark Underlord! "

Stricklander nearly jumped at the abruptness of Dictatious' voice. Somehow, the six-eyed advisor and his Gumm-Gumm cortège had managed to slip into the dining hall without him noticing. 

Gunmar didn't share his surprise.

"Report, Dictatious." The warlord commanded.

"The guards have discovered tracks in the vinyards again." 

"One of Skarlagk's deserters?"

"Unlikely, M'lord. No more than a handful of rebels remain after your glorious slaughter of the Scorned's army. If they were there to witness the battle, then I doubt they'd risk your wrath for the sake of a few cimmerian fruits."

"Did you see what the tracks looked like?" Stricklander asked, rising from his seat at the table.

Dictatious stared at him for a moment, then with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, returned his attention to Gunmar.

"I recommend we allow the Gamekeeper to take a pack of trained Helheeti from the horde. With their combined tracking abilities, they may be able to find the trail, perhaps far away enough to detect a clear scent. If we act quickly, we may---"

 **"Dictatious."** Gunmar graveled.

The advisor fell silent, his confident posture wavered as the deep blue veins along Gunmar's forearm began to flicker.

As Dictatious watched, his glowing claws flexed once.

Just once.

"Your _Queen_ asked you a _question_."

Dictatious and Stricklander traded stunned expressions. It wasn't clear which of them was more nonplussed by Gunmar's defence of his mate.

"Now that you mention it," Dictatious piped up, turning to face the changeling, "The tracks were very strange. Not shaped right to belong to one of ours. But the unusual thing is that they seemed to change as the trail stretched on."

"Changed?" Gunmar snapped, "In what way?"

Dictatious hesitated, blinking one set of eyes at a time.

"It was as if the troll's feet became more narrow as they walked."

Gunmar's eye flared, and he let out a snarl, turning to one of Dictatious' attendants.

"Show me." He commanded. 

The Thrall bowed his head low in reply, and turned to lead Gunmar to the Vineyards. Before he left, Gunmar glanced back at his mate.

"Stricklander. The Tribunal is _well aware_ of your indecision. They do not expect you to fight. They expect weakness."

The Gumm Gumm King's eye flickered.

"I have no need for weakness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a hint about the tracks. There is a species of Troll in the original book that is orange, scaly. and able to flatten itself.
> 
> In the side-novels, there is another character who is described as orange and scaly.
> 
> Just a thought to keep in mind.


	9. Quid Pro Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As another wrench is thrown into Strickler's machinations, Dictatious finally manages to get on his last nerve.

**The Rule Of Heartstone Subsection X: It shall be unlawful for a Troll to manufacture, possess, transport, or distribute contraband destructive devices or replicas of contraband destructive devices including but not limited to Gruesome Secretions, Artificial Sunlight or Dwarkstones with the intent to cause another to purchase trade or procure the destructive device. A person convicted of a violation of subsection (X) shall be at fault for any wounds brought about by the procuration, possession or obtaining of the device. Exceptions may be taken inso far as Apothecary's Privilege (see section seventy two, subsection Q) including but not limited to**

  
A green hand slammed down on the weathered page, blocking the rest of the paragraph from Strickler's view.

"You've been reading the same page for the past hour, Impure. What else have you got there?" 

Dictatious grabbed a few tomes from the pile Strickler had been pouring over. The advisor took one look at the covers and snorted. 

"'An Analysis of Troll Law? Rubbish." Dictatious tossed the book aside, "'In Defense of the Indefensible?' Derivitive at best. 'The Rule of Heartstone?' I know losing the trial is an option but _honestly_ , 'The Rule of Heartstone?' Don't you want to at least _look like_ you're _trying_?'

Strickler scowled, snatching the book back. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and while his well-maintained veneers weren't as intimidating as troll tusks, the expression seemed to get his point across.

Dictatious held up two hands in a placating gesture, folding his other arms across his chest.

The changeling glowered at him for a minute longer, then he returned his focus to the book he'd been reading.

"My brother recommended those tomes, didn't he?" Dictatious peered over Strickler's shoulder, "They certainly didn't come from _MY_ library."

Strickler ignored him. Picking up his pen, he underlined a passage about diminished responsibility, then jotted down a few short-hand notes beside it.

"Are you writing in the margins? Blinkous is going to hate that." Dictatious announced. Delighted, he rubbed his hand together. "Use 'there' instead of 'their,' it'll drive him batty!"

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Strickler asked.

"Hardly. The Dark Underlord tasked me with keeping an eye on you."

"So he won't mind if I gouge out the other five, then."

Dictatious sneered at the threat.

"And here I was thinking about helping you."

Strickler snorted at the thought of them working together.

"Tell me, what is your plan for learning Troll Law by the week's end? No, on second thought," Dictatious held up one finger. " _Don't_ tell me. Elixlore."

"If you're expecting a medal for guessing right, I'll tell you where to find it."

Accepting the fact that Dictatious wasn't going to let him study; Strickler bookmarked his page and stood. "Tell Gunmar I'm returning to the surface. I need to start brewing."

"Elixlore will give you a superficial understanding of the knowledge you consume, but to truly digest the subject, you need tedious, backbreaking research! There are no shortcuts to genius."

Strickler made his way out of the make-shift library with Dictatious trailing closely behind .

"Do you even have everything you need for the potion?" The advisor demanded. 

"I have had Trollhunters and Changelings scour the surface for the finest ingredients."

"Did you get the Goblin Whiskers?"

"In three different colors."

"Turnip sap?"

"Fresh squeezed."

"There's nothing your forgetting? Not a _single detail?_ "

Strickler stopped in the doorway to Gunmar's Throneroom. 

He didn't like the way Dictatious' voice lingered over the word 'detail,' or how the corners of his mouth turned upward ever so slightly.

It was an expression he knew well. The ever-so knowing smirk of someone who wanted to bargain.

"Say I am missing something. As royal advisor, what would you suggest it is?" Strickler kept his tone casual, as if speaking with an old friend.  
Dictatious chuckled.

"With all due respect, _my Queen_ , You've never bartered with a Troll Apothecary before, have you?"

He took Strickler's silence for confirmation.

"Apothecaries have a habit of leaving a single instruction out of magical formulas." Dictatious explained, waggling a finger. "Typically, the buyer gathers what they need, then they return the recipe in exchange for the last direction. This is done with the intention of keeping the customer from reselling the formula."

"Or gifting it to someone else." Strickler surmised.

He pulled the recipe out of his front pocket and offered it to Gunmar's Advisor.

Dictatious reached for the paper and Strickler snatched it back an instant before his fingers closed.

"You need me to tell you what's missing!" Dictatious snapped, "I've studied magical lore longer than you've been alive! I can help you!" 

"But at what cost?" Strickler arched an eyebrow, holding the recipe just out of reach.

The advisor gave him a sour look. 

"Well?" Strickler prodded in his smarmiest, most teacherly voice, "Spit it out. What is it you want in return?"

Dictatious flicked his ear, as if to ward off a fly. 

"I want one of those." He said finally.

Strickler glanced down to where he was pointing, then lifted a hand to his coat pocket.

"You want a pen." the changeling said flatly. 

"Several pens. And Parchment." Dictatious added, "Not the brittle kind the Egyptians use, I want GOOD parchment! Several reams of it!" 

"I see. The Muse is upon you." Strickler took out his fountain-pen, turning it over his fingers in a well-practiced knife-trick. "It must have been difficult, an author of your renown. Time enough at last to hone your craft, and nothing to write with."

"Do we have a deal or not?" Dictatious demanded.

Strickler tucked his pen away.

"Even if I agree to such a thing, I can't think of a single reason to trust you. For all I know, the Elixlore recipe is already complete."

"But you won't know for certain until I have a look at it! I give you my word!"

"The word of a scholar and a traitor." Strickler retorted. He folded his arms across his chest, mulling it over.

Dictatious glanced back over his shoulder, scanning the room to ensure no one was listening in.

Then, barely above a whisper, he leaned in closer to Strickler and murmured;

"I swear to the Blackened Heartstone." 

The Changeling considered for only a second more. Then he passed him the Elixlore Recipe.

Dictatious brought the paper close to his face; squinting all six eyes.

"Bloody finger, yes, man's bile, lady's meat. Brew for three hours..." He mumbled to himself, following the words with his finger as he read them off, "Aha! There it is!"

He smirked, setting two fists on his hips.

"It's missing a key instruction! You see, you can't just brew elixlore for three hours, it must be boiled under the light of a new moon!"

"The light of a new moon." Strickler repeated, a growl rising in his throat. "You're absolutely certain."

Dictatious passed the recipe back to him. 

"Ask my brother if you don't believe me."

"The new moon isn't until the end of the month." Strickler took a step toward Dictatious, stepping out of his human form as he did. "The trial is in less than a week!"

Dictatious's smile vanished. He backed away from the snarling changling, holding his hands out to defend himself.

"How is that my fault? If you can't brew the Elixlore, then why don't you buy it?"

"RotGut's won't sell to an 'Impure!" Stricklander bellowed.

"Again!" Dictatious declared, spreading his arms, "how is that my fault, Impure? You may have been too stupid to outwit a human child, but surely you've concocted some sort of back up plan? Oh, I know what you could do! Throw on a bit of cologne, find some new leathers, and maybe you could sway Vendel the same way you did Gunmar!"

Stricklander's claws connected with Dictatious' cheek. Sparks flew as stone pierced stone, four long gashes appearing less than an inch away from the advisor's third eye.  
The force of the blow knocked the troll off his feet. Dictatious clutched at his face, howling outrage and spitting insults.

Stricklander didn't hear any of them.

It wasn't that striking an underling was beneath him. Physical confrontation was one of those uncomfortable aspects of changeling life.  
But there were unwritten rules. Ways of doing things that set them apart from trolls.

Stricklander had only ever struck an associate to re-establish the pecking order. He was always calm and in control when he lashed out, using violence to assert his dominance. He'd been mocked and needled before, but never had he come close to clawing out someone's eyes.

  
He was a _leader_. Not some brutish tyrant like...

**_"I resent your weak, devious ways, Impure."_ **

_Black stone._

_Burning eyes._

_A_ deceptively _quiet rasp._

_**"I only respect force."** _

  
Stricklander moved to shift back to human form. His breathing became rougher, muscles aching as the pins and needles of change washed over him. 

It was more intense than usual, more difficult. He WANTED to stay in troll form. He was stronger as a troll.

Safer.

It took more effort than he would've liked, but Stricklander managed to force the transformation. Once he was human, he kneeled unsteadily, grabbing Dictatious' arm to pull him back up.

  
Dictatious waved him off, reaching up to check the scratches on his cheek. He looked Strickler up and down once, as if trying to decide if he was truly shaken, or just pretending to be. 

"I'll return tonight." Strickler told him, turning to walk toward the _Inlustris Callis._

"Wait, Impure." Dictatious called out. "You said Rotgut's won't sell to you. I might know someone who will. If he's still alive, that is."

"And what do you expect in exchange for his name?" Strickler asked, glancing back at him.

"Oh, I'll give you his name for free. If I'm being honest, I feel sorry for you."

"Because of Gunmar?"

"No, because you hit like a scorch beetle." The advisor stated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> started talkin' shit, wouldn't you know?  
> Reached back like a pimp and slapped the hoe


	10. Among Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler visits Trollmarket to find the potion he needs, and learns a few things worth knowing.

Blinky and Aaarrrgghh did not seem confident as they lead Strickler to the lawless outskirts of Trollmarket.

  
"Well, I didn't think it was possible, but this place has grown even less charming since my last visit." Strickler snipped.

Aaarrrgghh covered Blinky with one hand as a swarm of scorch beetles swooped overhead. Strickler ducked down, covering his pompadour to protect it.

Once the beetles passed, he straightened and hurried forward, eager to get this over with.

"Let's just find this 'Newt' The sooner we have what we need, the sooner we can leave." Strickler glanced back at the two trolls, looking from one to the other. "Are you sure we can trust one of Dictatous' schoolmates?"

"Trust is a very strong word." Blinky responded, "Reputable salestrolls rarely set up shop beyond the barrier of Trollmarket."

"Rep-ut-a-ble?"Aaarrrgghh echoed the word as a question.

"Reputable, as in Reputation. It means honest and reliable." Strickler explained.

"Reputable, it means---" Blinky stopped, nodding toward Strickler. "Exactly that."

"Newt good." Aaarrrgghh insisted as they walked.

"Yes, Well he certainly is a good natured fellow, Strange as that nature may be." " Blinky gestured absently as he spoke. Strickler noticed the contrast to how Dictatious usually kept his hands still when chatting

"Strange in what way?" Strickler asked, coming to a stop. He was beginning to have second thoughts.

"Newt is..." Blinky paused, humming thoughtfully. "He has his own way of doing things.That is to say almost everything he does is done the wrong way. But he does have an unmatched talent for alchemy."

"Newt spells work." Aaarrrggghhh added.

"Indeed they do, old friend."

The historian perked up suddenly, the creak of wooden wheels drawing his attention. "Speak of the devil!"

Strickler turned to watch, and a look of horror fell across his face.

The hulking thing that came around the corner wasn't a troll.

The concrete golem was larger than Aaarrgghh, and shaped like a faceless gorilla with too-long limbs. Each of its forearms were easily as big around as a barrel, and its stone limbs seemed to creak as it shambled along on all fours.

A makeshift wooden cart rattled behind, pulled along by a harness notched to a hollow in the golems back.

The cart was overflowing with scavenged garbage and magical odds and ends. phoniex feathers mingling with candy wrappers, jars of frog's breath stacked atop soda cans, flowering herbs next to a few trashbags, one of them spilled onto its side to reveal a collection of plastic plastic doll parts.

Strickler watched the golemn warily as Blinky rapped his knuckles against the cart.

"Excuse me, my good troll. Are you open?" The historian asked.

A pointed red cap popped up from the edge of the cart, followed by a gnome with a shortly-trimmed beard.

For an absurd instant, Strickler thought that somehow Blinky had been mistaken, and that the gnome was the actual proprieter of the alchemy cart. But then one of the trashbags shifted and yawned.

"Morning, Blinkous." the dark shape unfurled four arms and sleepily rubbed at six opal blue eyes. "Totem or curse?"

Newt climbed over the side of the cart. Too short to touch the ground, he dangled for a moment, legs pedaling the air.

Aaarrgghh grabbed his apron like the scruff of a cat, placing him safely onto the ground.

"Thanks. So! How can I serve you?" the alchemist chirped, settling to his feet.

Which in this case consisted of his legs and his first set of arms, so that he stood somewhat like a centaur.

"We don't need anything." Strickler announced, turning and starting in the other direction.

Aaarrgghh caught the back of his jacket, then used one hand to rotate him to face the Alchemist.

"We are in dire need of a bottle of your finest elixlore." Blinky announced. He set a hand on Strickler's shoulder, coaxing him forward. "This fellow here is---"

"Waltolomew Strickler!" Newt scurried closer, extending two hands to shake. "Stricklander, to Trolls."

"You've heard of me?" Strickler raised his eyebrows, reluctantly offering his hand.

Newt gave it a vigorous shake, nodding pleasantly.

"My changeling customer's told me all about you! The Siege of Kolberg, Your spy work for the Red Orchestra, The Battle of Two Bridges. You're not nearly as menacing as they say you are!"

"That---" Strickler grimaced, drawing his hand back. "Certainly isn't something they should be chatting about."

"Proud." Aaarrrgghh said gently.

"While I'm in no hurry to give praise for anything you've done in regards to the Bridge," Blinky explained, "my compassionate companion is correct. It would appear that the majority of Trollmarket Changelings are indeed proud of their leader."

Strickler opened his mouth to respond, then closed it quickly.

He couldn't think of a single thing to say to that.

Something jabbed at his ankle, and Strickler glanced down to see a round bottle, held aloft on the gnome's shoulders.

Strickler took it, examining the cloudy purple liquid inside. It certainly _resembled_ Elixore.

He pulled the cork, taking a cautious whiff.

"It smells a bit off."

"That would be the secret ingredient! It's what makes my Elixlore ten times more effective than Rotgut's!" Newt looked proud of himself. Then, he used a hand to shield his mouth, leaning in close to whisper to Strickler.

"The secret ingredient is hyper-fixation!"

Strickler replaced the cork with a frown as the gnome climbed squirrel-like onto Newt's shoulder.

The creature settled against the Alchemist's curls with a few creaking chirps and for the first time, Strickler got a good, clear look at it.

He jolted, taking several rapid steps back.

"Is that a redcap!?" the changeling shouted.

Aaarrrgghh and Blinky looked at each other. Newt seemed equally puzzled.

The Alchemist tilted his head, giving his filed-down horns a scratch.

"In all honesty? It's more of a maroon." Newt stated.

"I dare say it leans toward Scarlet." Blinky added.

"Green." Aaarrrgghh chimed in.

"You're sure that's the right stuff? Absolutely sure? Ok then." Newt looked up from a hushed conversation with the "gnome," "Lyndenstrom says that's what you need. I'll give you the Elixlore for three bags of marbles."

Strickler had been reaching in his pocket to retrieve some coins, but stopped at Newt's words.

"I didn't bring any marbles." he admitted.

Blinky began to pat his own pockets, and Aaarrrgghh whistled innocently.

"Do you have any hair curlers?" Newt asked hopefully.

"No, but I can get them for you." Strickler said, "The curlers and marbles, but I need the Elixlore today."

The alchemist was quiet for a moment, then he smiled, nodding once.

"Okay. I trust you, Strickler."

Words that Strickler had heard before, rarely to the benefit of the speaker. 

Still, he was surprised to hear it so casually. Especially from a Troll that clearly knew his reputation.

Strickler examined the strange little troll who walked on four limbs and filed his horns. He took a long look at the golem, and the murderous not-gnome perched on the alchemist's shoulder.

Once more, he focused on Newt. On his smile and his guileless blue eyes.

The changeling sighed, extending his hand once more to shake on it.

"Please, my friends call me Walter."

On the way back to Trollmarket, Strickler heard something else that threw him for a loop.

"Would you like to join us?"

He did a double take. Blinky and Aaarrgghh stared back at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry, I was woolgathering. What did you say?" Strickler tugged at his collar, uncomfortably warm in spite of the cool underground.

"I said, Aaarrrgghh and I are going to the Troll Pub to try the new seasonal glug." Blinky replied.

"Come with." Aaarrrgghh added, "Have drink. See Kovi."

"You've never asked me to drink with you before." Strickler tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

He didn't quite succeed.

"Yes, well, perhaps it's time we cleared the air." Blinky pressed his lower hands together cordially. With his other set, he held his palms up and shrugged.

"I haven't fully forgiven you for your past misdeeds. The fear and anguish you put Master Jim through is completely reprehensible. You betrayed his trust as a mentor. You threatened his life. You orchastrated the kidnapping of Claire's brother. You were perfectly content to use a woman who cared for you as a bargaining chip, you aided in killing Kanjigar, and you took me as a hostage and strung me up like a pinata."

  
He said the last rather flatly.

Before Strickler could retort, Blinky took a step forward and set a hand on his shoulder.

"That being said, there are a few other things to take into consideration. You brought our Trollhunter safely out of the Darklands. You've risked your life and more by exposing the Janus Order to Trollmarket. By Deya's Grace, you've managed to convince Gunmar himself to work with the Pact! While you still have a great deal to answer for, it's clear to us that you're _trying_ to change. And that's more than can be said of most Trolls."

Aaarrrgghh rumbled, and Blinky turned to give his forearm a reassuring pat.

"Excluding present company, of course!"

Aaarrrgghh huffed good naturedly, his breath ruffling Blinky's hair.

Strickler noticed the affection and warmth in his green eyes, and how Blinky's smile was just a bit wider than usual.

It was a subtle thing that would escape the notice of most humans. But the slightness of their body language spoke volumes to someone who knew what to look for.

  
"I'd be more than happy to discuss the past over a pint, but after the trial is finished. For now, I'd like to head to the surface and check in on Jim." Strickler was mildly surprised to discover he meant it.

A drink with friends. Had he ever actually done such a thing?

\"Ah, yes! Master Jim is recovering valiantly from his wounds." Blinky announced, "In fact, he, Tobias and Claire are currently sparring in the Heroes Forge."

"The Heroes Forge? He was attacked yesterday!"

Another thought made Strickler stiffen his spine.

_"It's a school day!"_

A gout of flame roared above Jim's head as he sprang into a summersault, righting himself and swinging Daylight to deflect a blow from the Shadowstaff.  
Claire caught the blades edge in the fork of her staff, bracing her legs as she tried to push Jim back. Their eyes met above the crossed weapons, sapphire and agate, sparking off each other.

Claire smirked, dipping her head forward to press a quick kiss to Jim's lips.

Instantly, his stern focus melted under a goofy grin, and she took the opportunity to drop him with a leg-sweep.

"Oof!" Jim grimaced as his back struck the ground, his sword vanishing. Claire placed her staff under his chin with a smile.

He draped his forearm across his forehead.

"Fair Juliet! Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me!"

Jim let his head fall back dramatically.

"You remember your lines?" Claire laughed, reaching down to help him up.

"And yet I _still_ can't remember my cellphone number." He chuckled, wincing a little.

Claire set a hand on his shoulder, her lips set in a worried line.

"I'm fine, Claire. it's just a few stitches, and about twenty different antibiotic pills."

One of the training dummies shattered under Toby's warhammer.

The red-head huffed, kicking at a piece of rubble.

"Ok, so are we just going to ignore the Strickler thing?" he demanded.

"You mean the trial?" Jim asked, tugging his amulet loose.

"No! The other thing! He's out of the Darklands! And you didn't let him out!" Toby exclaimed.

He dropped his hammer onto the ground and sat on it, resting his forearms on his knees.

"So, we KNOW Strickler's working with Gunmar again, right? He says they're fixing the Heartstone there with some sort of changeling voodoo. But what if he's in there showing Gumm-Gumms how to throw knives, or teaching Gunmar how to cast a binding spell or something!"

"It _is_ kind of weird." Claire admitted, "And did anyone else notice the way he acted last year, when he came back? It's like he'd..."

She frowned, dropping the staff. It hovered in midair like a witches broomstick, and she settled onto it, as calmly as if she were sitting on a park bench.

"He was just different." She finished.

Jim sat down beside her, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"That's just the Darklands. I almost lost it after two weeks in there. I can't imagine three months."

"Three months working with Gunmar." Claire added. "It's really strange how the two of them are buddy-buddy now. I thought Strickler hated him as much as we do."

"What if Gunmar's controlling him?" Toby asked, jumping to his feet, "What if he cut him with that brain-washing sword?"

"No!" Jim rubbed his face in frustration, "Decimaar doesn't work like that. The Magic would wear off as soon as Strickler came back to the surface.

"How do you know that, Jim?" Claire asked, taking his hand.

"Because Strickler..." Jim's voice trailed off.

"Because he told you." Toby finished. "So, are we just gonna believe him when he said he Dorothy'd his way out of the Darklands?"

"Dorothy'd?" Claire repeated.

"Yeah! You know, like the book. Dorothy goes through the mirror, where everything's crazy-town banana-pants?"

"That's Alice, Tobes." Jim sighed, "and yeah, I believe him. Think about it, if he wanted to keep his escape secret, he wouldn't have showed up for the trial."

Toby didn't look convinced.

"Ok, how about this?" Jim offered, "The next time we see him, we'll have Strickler show us this 'Inlustris Callis'. If he's telling the truth, we can test it out for ourselves."

"Makes sense to me. Besides, if he wanted you dead, letting that emu eat you would've been a good cover story." Claire teased gently.

Jim slipped and arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head against him.

"Wanna watch it again?" She asked, pulling out her phone.

"How many views is it up to?" Jim asked.

"2K and counting." Claire smiled, "You want Original, or the Meme-ified version?"

"It's been memed already?"

"Not-Enrique works fast."

A quiet cough echoed through the chamber, and the two of them glanced up.

"Did you guys hear something?" Claire wondered aloud.

"Nah, it was probably nothing." Toby answered, staring at the entryway to the Heroes Forge. He retracted his hammer and tucked it into his backpack.

"I'm just gonna go, uh, grab some... tacos. I'll catch you guys later."

Strickler drew out his cellphone as he hurried away from the Heros Forge. He tried to focus on the ten or so missed messages in his inbox, but he kept replaying the conversation he'd listened in on.

Claire was a clever girl. Empathetic and intuitive. He had to get a better reign on his emotions, before she deduced the real signifigance behind his liasons with Gunmar.

Jim, in spite of everything, seemed to have a grain of faith left in him. It wasn't much, but it was certainly more than he was entitled to. Still, Gunmar had made it perfectly clear. The next time the Trollhunter set foot in the Darklands, it would be considered a declaration of war.

And as for Toby....

Well, Toby had always been a good judge of character.

Strickler paused at the Barrier to Trollmarket, staring at a long list of notifications from Barbara.

He took a breath to steady himself, then opened them.

**Wendsday, October 14th, PM**

  * **1:04: Barbara <-Admitting us now. Jim is staying positive, says he wants a rematch. ϱ(`ન̇´)⁼³̳ How are you holding up?**
  * **1:40 Barbara <\- Jim's going to be A-okay. Six stiches. ) : **
  * **2: 22 Barbara <\- Do you have time to stop by the clinic? I want to make sure you aren't hurt.**
  * **3:10 Barbara <-Are you alright? Worried about you. Tried calling. Went straight to voicemail. **
  * **4:15 Barbara <-Talk over tea @ Mr. Benoits tomorrow? **



Strickler let out the breath he'd been holding, and quickly typed up a response.

  * **Glad to hear that Young Atlas remains undefeated. So sorry for missing your calls. Went straight home and passed out. More sorry I missed your Lunch invite. Friday @ 12:30 Ok?**



less than five minutes after he hit 'send' his phone gave a cheerful chime, and a text box popped onto the screen.

**Thursday, October 15, AM**

  * **10:15 Barbara <\- Tomorrow @ 12:30. It's a date. ; )**



Smiling, Strickler moved on to his other messages as he carved a doorway out of Trollmarket.

  
**Thusrday, Octber 15, AM**

  * **3:13 Otto <\- There were complications in our vanity project. Call me when you get this.**



His car was waiting for him next to the canal, right beside a navy blue vespa and a sports bike. He double checked to make sure they were safely locked, then dialed Otto's number as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"What sort of complications?" Strickler demanded as soon as the polymorph picked up.

"We were unable to procure the looking glass. The owner refused to sell, and moving it without witnesses will be difficult. However, we have obtained a way of access, and the owner has been-shall we say- taken care of."

Strickler tightened his grip on the wheel as he pulled onto Delancy Street.

"What part of 'no killing wasn't clear to you?"

" _Bitte,_ there was no 'killing!' The Janus Order arranged for her to win a trip to the Witch Museum in Salem. That should keep her out of the way long enough to get what we need."

"Is the owner there now?"

"She left an hour ago."

"Good. Is Eloise nearby?"

There was a long silence on the other end, then, Otto replied with a weak affirmative.

"I have a target for her. Tell her I'll ensure she's paid twice her going rate if she handles it in the next hour."

"Are you sure, _Mein Fruend_? She is a more than capable assassin, but I thought you were very insistent that she retire."

"I'm going to make a one-time exception in this case. Here's what I want you to do."

Strickler went on to explain the target, and how Eloise should hide the body in a crate, and bring it to the alley behind Brightower Books and Novelties.

Otto listened, and then, in an exceptionally confused tone, answered,

" _Ja,_ she can do this. But why would...?"

Strickler hung up on him, tucking the phone into his pocket.

Apparently, the Janus Order's idea of getting access to the _Inlustris Callis_ was a copy of the store key. While a few goblins kept watch for witnesses, Strickler opened the back door and slipped into the storage room.

Otto had disguised himself as someone thirty years younger with short, cropped hair. He kept his head down as he pushed the trolley into the store.

"You are certain the Dark Underlord will be satisfied with this?" he asked, setting a hand on the crate.

"Oh, I'm sure it will tickle his palate." Strickler replied, smirking down at the box with immense satisfaction. "Now go. I want you to return tonight, and this time, do not leave empty handed."

Once Otto had left, Strickler lifted the crate off the trolley and carried it toward the restroom. the smell of fresh blood seeped through the wooden boards, a scent that would normally make him sick.

Instead, he was mildly startled at the sound of his stomach growling.

Strickler set the box down in front of the mirror, prying the lid off. The body inside was wrapped in garbage bags to keep it from leaking. He lifted the limp form out of the box, feeling a brief, sadistic sense of triumph.

For an instant, he thought he heard a startled gasp somewhere behind him. But after considering, decided it was just the garbage bag rustling.

Strickler tossed the corpse through the mirror, pausing to double check that the Elixlore was still in his pocket.

Then, he ducked down and stepped into the Darklands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to wake up tomorrow kicking myself for all the mistakes in this chapter, but i managed to write it in two days, so that's something to be proud of. A huge thanks to alchemistnewt at tumblr for letting me use their OC, and giving me permission to share this fantastic artwork of their OC!


	11. Toby Domzalski is in way over his head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an uninvited guest crashes Strickler's brunch with Gunmar; the changeling must find a way to make him useful to the Gumm-Gumm King.

Strickler took one last look at the cooking meat and sighed.

"Alright," he finally conceded, "But just one bite."

"That's the spirit." Dictatious smirked, "Oh, Are you going to drink that?"

The advisor pointed at a clay jug filled with blood.

"No. by all means." Strickler passed the flagon to Dictatious; grimacing a bit at its warmth.

"Here, Dark Underlord, your cup seems a bit wanting." The four-armed troll made a show of refilling Gunmar's mug before approaching the cookfire.

At first Gunmar seem completely engrossed in licking every scrap of meat from the pile of bones in his lap. Then without looking up; he grabbed the mug and drained it in a single swallow. With a grunt of approval, he wiped his mouth on the back of claw and threw the cup aside for someone else to deal with.

Considering that this was typical Gumm-Gumm tablemanner; Strickler should have been on the lookout for flying tableware. But his mind was on other things, and he was startled when the mug smacked into his chest.

Strickler groaned, disgusted at the gout of blood that splashed across the front of his jacket.

"Oh, no; No need to apologize. I have five more just like it." He grumbled, making a face at the stains.

Gunmar responded with a low sound before breaking off a rib to pick his teeth.

Strickler paused, blinking in surprise.

Did the Dark Underlord just _chuckle_?

"Dark or white meat, Stricklander?" Dictatious asked, drawing his attention.

"I'm not familiar with Troll cuisine. Surprise me."

Dictatious shrugged at Strickler's answer and got to work carving.

"A thousand years on the surface, Stricklander." Gunmar spoke up as he licked his bloody teeth, "And you waste your fangs on fleshling scraps."

The changeling accepted a chunk of meat from Dictatious. Seared brown and crisp on the outside, but still rare. A richer, darker red than any meat he'd tried in the past.

"Well, traditional Gumm-Gumm fare isn't easy to come by." Strickler looked down at the morsel, doing his best not to think about where it came from.

"I seriously doubt that." Dictatious snorted, "You spend most of the day talking with it."

A heavy unease made the hair on the back of his neck prickle; and instinctively, Strickler glanced up.

Gunmar was watching him.

On an intellectual level, Strickler knew that the Gumm-Gumm King wouldn't kill him; at least not randomly. He didn't delude himself; affection had nothing to do with it. The simple truth was that Gunmar would keep him alive for as long as he was useful.

And he _was_ useful, he made sure of it.

Still, that knowledge did little to alleviate the chill of being under the Warlord's ice-blue eye. Gunmar's attention was a dangerous thing to those who served him. His favor could elevate a changeling to higher status, just as easily as his wrath could reduce them to a meal.

Strickler looked back at that lone, flaring eye, briefly startled by the realization that he had no idea what his husband was thinking.

He met Gunmar's gaze and held it, lifting his eyebrows in a silent question.

When no answer came; Strickler scoffed quietly and returned his attention to the meat. Let Gunmar be cryptic and sinister. What did _he_ care?

The changeling lifted the meat to his mouth, grunting a bit as his teeth caught on the stringy muscle.

"You know," His eyes widened in surprise as he chewed, "That isn't half-way horrible."

"A bit like deer, isn't it?" Dictatious stated.

Strickler thought it tasted more like veal, and he was about to say so when the _Inlustris Callis_ began to rattle violently.

Gunmar rose like a stormcloud, pulling himself to his full height. Dozens of his troops were at his side in an instant.

The mirror shook again and without thinking, Strickler took a step toward it.

Dictatious grabbed his jacket and pulled him back. Startled, Strickler glanced at him.

The advisor said nothing. He just shook his head once.

The Gumm-Gumm King growled; A low, cavernous rumble that rippled over his army. The troops leveled their spears. They echoed his growl; the animal rumble rising like the beat of a war drum. Gunmar almost seemed to swell at the sound, his stone muscles bunching taut, his horns held high.

Blue magics snaked their way out of his arm, coalescing in his hand to form the Decimaar blade. Without a word, the Warlord trudged forward to greet whatever was coming through the _Inlustris Callis_.

A backpack fell to the ground at his feet.

Then, a pudgy arm broke the mirror's silver surface, followed by a short, khaki-clad leg.

"Almost there," a familiar voice grunted, "C'mon, just a little more."

The _Inlustris Callis_ gave one last shudder and a form emerged from it. As Strickler watched in stunned silence, Toby began psyching himself up.

"Covert Ops, Warhammer. Get in, get out." the teenager said to himself, "Don't get---"

The word 'caught' died in his throat as he turned to face Gunmar and an army of Gumm-Gumms.

"Oh Fudgeknuckles." He whispered, looking around at the armored trolls.

Gunmar's eye widened briefly in surprise. With a clang, the heavy edge of his blade fell to the ground. Then Decimaar vanished, and the Warlord's jaws twisted into a wolfish smile.

"The Trollhunter's companion." He murmured, his tone almost welcoming.

"Uninvited, at that." Dictatious chimed in from a safe distance. "A proclaimed ally of Trollmarket, sneaking into your kingdom like an assassin."

Toby backed away toward the mirror and a pair of Gumm-Gumms quickly cut off his escape.

"You know, Dark Underlord." Dictatious hid a grin behind two hands, "Anyone would consider his actions an unprovoked attack. An appropriate reaction on your part would be nothing except self-defense."

Gunmar clearly had an idea of what that 'appropriate reaction' should be. The Gumm-Gumm King licked his chops before reaching for Tobias.

 **"No!"** Strickler shouted suddenly.

Without realizing what he was doing, the changeling burst into Trollform. In two long strides, he put himself between his student and Gunmar.

Gunmar's lips peeled away from his teeth in a scowl. His eye flared at the act of defiance.

Stricklander crouched slightly, claws spread, arms bent at the elbow, as if flaring a set of wings he no longer had. Gunmar moved to to circle around him; and Stricklander stepped sideways, keeping his back to Tobias.

"Mr. S, I am so, so sorry I rule number 3'd you." Toby whispered frantically.

Stricklander took his eyes off Gunmar just for a second; shooting Toby an incredulous look.

The force of stone fist connecting with ribs was like a sledgehammer. The air knocked from his lungs as Stricklander struck the ground and rolled; his limbs tangling in his cape. Two Gumm-Gumm's brought their Parlock spears to rest in an X above his neck, pinning the changeling in place.

"Leave him alone!" Toby cried out. He tried to run to him, but Gunmar grabbed the back of his vest.

Stricklander pushed himself up, wincing as the spears cut into his neck. "Toby Domzalski, you are---"

The gears in his head turned quickly, and he forced calm into his voice.

"You're **early!** "

Gunmar was in the middle of lifting Toby to his mouth. He stopped, glowering down at the changeling.

Stricklander ignored the glare; shifting back to human form with an expression of self-assured irritation.

"He is?" Dictatious frowned, clearly not expecting that sort of reaction.

"I am?" Toby echoed.

He began to gag as Gunmar's brought him closer.

"Your breath smells like dead people." Toby gasped out, the words running together in a wheeze.

"Flattery will not save you, child." Gunmar snarled before turning on Strickler. "Are you saying you summoned him here, Stricklander?"

"I am, and I did." Strickler replied coolly, "Although I had hoped he would wait until after I'd had time to discuss it with you."

Gunmar glowered for a long stretch of silence. With a growl, he dropped Toby, and signaled for the guards to release his mate.

" _ **Why?**_ " The Warlord snarled.

A bead of sweat ran down the side of Strickler's face as he stood.

Why, indeed?

"Well, Obviously, I invited him here to...."

He walked toward Toby slowly, trying to buy some time.

"To..."

Toby's backpack had spilled when he hit the ground. He was on hands and knees, trying to stuff his scattered things back in. Strickler's eyes landed on the coffee-stained pages of the boy's book report.

 _Villette_ , by Charolette Bronte.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, Strickler turned to face Gunmar. "I invited Tobias here to teach you, My Lord. Isn't that right, Mr. Domzalski?"

Toby didn't respond. He was too busy staring up at Gunmar. His lower lip trembled, but his green eyes glinted with contempt.

"Will you allow me a moment with my student?" Strickler asked, setting a hand on Toby's shoulder. "He's clearly overwhelmed by your dark majesty."

Before Gunmar could respond, Strickler grabbed the back of Toby's vest and tugged him away from the crowd of Gumm-Gumms.

"Are you okay?" Toby reached toward Strickler, and the changeling knocked his hand away. "Wait, wait. There was blood on his mouth! That's blood! There on your shirt!"

Toby backed away.

"That's not your blood! Ohmygosh you ate that body!"

"Body?" Strickler repeated.

"The dead body! I saw it back at the shop! You're a people-eater!"

"Toby, listen to me!" Strickler made a grab for him, but he ducked out of reach.

Toby finally found his warhammer in one of his pockets, but before he could deploy it, Strickler leaned down and whispered as loudly as he could.

"It was an emu!"

"An emu?"

"An emu. Look at the bones, you can see the leg over there, and a wing! Humans don't have wings!"

"An emu."

Toby glanced toward the bones. A small pack of goblins were picking over the carcass; one of them tossing the bird's skull aside. Toby looked at the skull, then back at Strickler. His eyes fell to the changelings side, where Gunmar had struck him. Toby shivered, looked at the ground, then relaxed slightly.

"You know, I've had Flamingo."

"Tobias, Focus!" Strickler hissed, grabbing his shoulders, "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"So I went into the Darklands! Jim and Nomura did it, and you do it all the time!" Toby said defensively, glancing at the ground.

"Jim and Nomura only survived by my intervention! I am Gunmar's Ambassador to the Tribunal! I have a right to be here. You, however, are a Trollhunter! A sworn enemy!"

"But what about the Triad Contract? Don't I have diplomatic immunity?" Toby scuffed the ground with his shoe, staring at the ground.

"Why do you keep looking at the ground!?"

"Because I'm trying not to stare at his eye!" Toby glanced at Gunmar over Strickler's shoulder. "Seriously, I think I can see to his brain!"

"Social Skills, Tobias! Look at his eyebrows! That way, you show that you're paying attention without the aggression of eye contact." Strickler extended his hand, "Now, Give me your phone."

"What? No! We aren't in class!" Toby protested.

"Just give it to me!" The teen grumbled to himself, but he fished his phone out of his pocket and passed it to Strickler. "I have thirty seconds to think of something for you to teach Gunmar, or you're going to become a prisoner of war at best, and a tuck-in at worst."

"He's going to put me to bed?" Toby looked confused.

Strickler thumbed through his messages to Jim, trying to find something useful. "That isn't what 'tuck-in' means. Nevermind. Tempted as I am; I won't let that happen. What was the last webpage you visited? If it's something private, just say socks."

"It isn't socks!" Toby exclaimed. "Wait, I don't wanna teach Gunmar! He hurt Jim!" Then, more fiercely, "He hurt Aaarrrgghh."

Strickler was surprised to hear the venom in his voice. He'd never known Toby to hold a grudge.

"Yes, well, as you can see, bringers of horrible, slow, painful and thoroughly-calculated death enjoy hurting people. If you want to get out of this alive, you're going to have to fake it. Jim and I have worked too hard to keep this peace stable. I'm not going to let your stupidity screw it up."

Toby wilted at that.

"Fine. My Nana told me if you have to work with someone you don't like, try to find common ground. Any chance Gunmar likes card tricks?"

"Yes, Tobias, by all means. Try to find common ground with a blood-thirsty Troll King." Strickler squinted at the webpage that popped up when he hit the browser icon.

He slowly drew in a painful breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth; utilizing a calming technique.

"Regrettably, I can work with this."

Even slouched in his throne, the Gumm-Gumm King still towered over them as Toby and Strickler knelt before him.

"Code?" growled Gunmar.

"Code?" Dictatious repeated, incredulous.

"Code." Strickler stated confidently, "More specifically, the code that Teenagers use to exchange secret messages. Teenagers like the Trollhunter."

"Dark Underlord, we don't need a fleshbag to teach us!" Dictatious protested, "I've studied cryptography for centuries! I can translate anything!"

"By all means!" Strickler said, passing Dictatious Toby's cellphone. "Here's a correspondence between Toby and Jim from just yesterday."

Dictatious peered down at the screen, squinting to read the small print.

"' **Jimbo** ," the Advisor read aloud, "Obviously a nick-name for the Trolhunter. ' **I am trying to avoid adulting**.'"

Dictatious frowned at that, but continued,

" **'Jimbo, I am trying to avoid adulting, but the clap of my**...'"

He stopped, voice trailing off.

Dictatious blinked one eye at a time. He turned the phone over, as if looking at it from a different angle might decipher the gibberish.

"A-as I said." Dictatious stated, "Given enough time, I could translate this."

Gunmar plucked the phone from his hands. His lone eye flickered as it followed the text on the screen.

Then in a low, deep voice, he asked;

"What is 'dummy thicc?"

"What indeed?" Strickler repeated. He set a hand on Toby's back and pushed him forward. "And that is just one of thousands of code words. 'Woke.' 'Fleek.' 'Kobe.' Each with it's own unique cadence and origin. As a gesture of good will on behalf of the Trollhunters, Toby has offered to teach you this language. The code is exclusive to his age group. Not even the Janus Order knows all its secrets."

"Uh, yeah." Toby added, half-heartedly, "I'm kind of a dank expert. Deja Vu, Distracted Boyfriend, the one with the lady yelling at a cat."

The boy took a step toward Gunmar.

"Soooo, Mr.S says you have a cursed weapon. That's cool. I have one too!"

Gunmar growled doubtfully.

"What? I do!" Toby argued.

He reached for his backpack, and the closest thralls leveled their spears at him. Gunmar raised an arm and they lowered their weapons. With a triumphant grin, Toby pulled out the shaft of his warhammer and held it over head.

Gunmar drummed his claws like a King debating whether or not to kill the court jester.

With a flourish, Toby threw the handle into the air. It fell back down as a massive, ruby-headed war-hammer; orange flames dancing along its faceted surface.

Gunmar took interest at that, leaning forward a bit on his throne.

"It looks to be a warhammer with a Feather-Lead curse, Sire." Dictatious said quietly.

"Yes, but can he wield it?" Gunmar smiled slowly, leaning back.

From the way Dictatious chuckled, Strickler got the impression that the two of them were sharing an inside joke.

"I will allow you to teach me, child." Gunmar announced, "If you can prove yourself worthy of my attention."

"Okay." Toby thought for a moment, "Do you like card tricks?"

Behind him, the Gumm-Gumm's began clearing the area, making space in the Crucible pit.

"If you can wound my gamekeeper, then you will live." Gunmar stated.

"Wait, did he say 'live?"' Toby asked, looking to Strickler.

Before the changeling could answer, two thralls shoved Toby into the Arena. Dictatious stepped forward, lifting his hands dramatically.

"Release the Gamekeeper! Oddball, Come Forth!" He commanded.

With a sinking heart, Strickler turned to face the crucible. The Gumm-Gumm throng parted like water to allow a massive shape to pass.

"Aw, Oddball's a cute name." Toby said hopefully.

The Frost Troll that shuffled forward was covered in a shaggy coat of slush-colored fur. Her ox horns were wide enough to rival Gunmars, and her expression was impossible to decipher behind a feathered inuit mask decorated with fox tails.

She did look cute, in the lumbering way of well-fed bears and sleeping lions. But that was only until she rose to her hind legs, revealing thickly muscled forearms and a dripping, saber-toothed maw. She was an ancient, arctic thing, at least four heads taller than Gunmar.

"Not cute, NOT CUTE!" Toby clutched his hammer and took several steps back. "I have to fight a wendigo!?" He shouted, looking to Strickler for help.

The Frost Troll snarled, thick ropes of saliva striking the ground and freezing solid. Strickler opened his mouth to plead with Gunmar, but the Warlord spoke first.

"Do not kill the child." Gunmar ordered, "But any limb that lands in your mouth, you may keep."

Oddball looked back at Gunmar in brief confusion. Then, with an affirming growl, she returned her attention to Toby.

"Okay, Okay. We're doing this." Toby set his lips in a firm line, bracing his feet apart.

Dictatious strolled over to Strickler's side, giving him a playful elbow in the ribs.

"This should be fun." He said cheerfully as Strickler winced.

The changeling didn't answer. He just watched helplessly as Toby charged toward certain death.

Oddball used her forearm to catch the first blow. Toby lunged back with surprising grace, swinging in a full circle as he aimed the hammer toward her snout. Strickler grimaced as the flat of Oddball's horn caught Toby in the gut, sending him flying across the arena.

"Oof!" The boy rolled to a stop against a rock, pushing himself to his feet. "Ooooooh everything hurts."

Toby looked up and yelped as Oddball dropped to all fours, galloping toward him.

"Ohmigoshohmigosh---" Toby swung his hammer toward the ceiling. The fiery magics flared, and the hammer threw his weight up and out of reach.

Oddball kept charging and crashed face-first into the rock where he'd stood.

The Frostroll groaned and snorted, shaking the hit off as Toby floated overhead. She snarled and rose onto her hind legs; swatting at Toby's shoes as they drifted just out of reach.

Toby yanked his feet up and began climbing the hilt of his hammer. With shaking hands, he managed to reach the stone head and pull himself to stand on top of it. He wobbled, arms pinwheeling as he struggled to stay balanced.

Below, Oddball growled and began to pace in a slowly closing circle.

"Can't we just call it a draw?" Toby called down to her.

She crouched low, the muscles in her haunches coiled.

Strickler opened his mouth to shout a warning, but he was drowned out by the Frost Troll's roar. She jumped with all the force of a killer whale bursting free of the ocean.

As soon as her feet left the ground, Toby jumped as well.

"FOR GLORY!!!" He bellowed, bringing his full weight down on the weapon.

Both human and warhammer landed hard, connecting with Oddball in midair. The stone head slammed into her face with a sickening crack and the Frost Troll toppled back. The broken mask slid across the smooth stone of the Crucible floor as Oddball crashed to the ground. She gave her heavy head a shake.

The Gamekeeper didn't seem to be in pain as one of her teeth fell out; just very, very confused.

"I did it?" Toby blinked, gripping his hammer as he floated back down. "I did it! Hey, Mr. S!" He turned to Strickler, picking up the tooth and holding it over his head.

Oddball groaned like a winter wind and rose to her feet.

"Are you good?" Toby took a cautious step toward her, "Here, want your tooth back?"

His caution faded a bit at the sight of her droopy bloodhound ears, beaded braids and broad, krubera-esque face.

"You _are_ kinda cute---OHMYGOSHSHEHASTHROATTEETH!"

Strickler watched in horror as Oddball opened her mouth and grabbed Toby, shaking him like a chew toy.

"That's enough, Gamekeeper. Bring him to me." Gunmar commanded.

Oddball huffed, clearly annoyed at the idea of having her new ball taken away. Her ruined jaw worked for a moment, as if she were thinking of popping him like a grape.

Instead, she carried the stunned trollhunter to Gunmar's throne. As Toby gagged at her fishy breath, she dropped him at her Warlord's feet. The Frost Troll lifted her chin to expose her throat.

It was clear she wasn't afraid to die for the dishonor of losing to a human. Gunmar waved her away.

"Congratulations on your survival." he growled to Toby, "Take the human to the mess hall. See that he is...fed."

"Oh, no, I'm good." Toby protested from the floor.

A pair of Thralls grabbed his arms and tugged him to his feet.

"Then again, I could eat." Toby admitted as he was dragged away.

Once Toby was out of sight and earshot, Strickler hurried to Gunmar's side.

"My Lord," he said quickly, "Tobias' family will notice that he's missing. We should send him back to the surface as soon as possible, to avoid rousing suspicion."

"If I may, Dark Underlord," Dictatious piped up, "Keeping the boy here would provide us a tactical advantage. The Trollhunter might be persuaded to open the bridge in exchange for his safe return."

"And that would undo all of the progress we've made!" Strickler argued, "Tobias came here on good faith to teach Gunmar! Even if we managed to force Killahead open, there would be an army of surface trolls waiting for us on the other side! AND the Eclipse Blade! Make no mistake, the Janus Order is willing to fight, but it would be suicide to try and strike now!"

"Who cares about the Janus Order? As long as Gunmar is free, a phyrric victory is still a victory!"

"I CARE, You insufferable, pompous--"

"ENOUGH." Gunmar bellowed.

Dictatious and Strickler both recoiled as Gunmar's voice shook the chamber.

The changeling found his words first. He stepped forward, fully aware of the danger as he set his hand gently over Gunmar's claw.

"Gunmar, _Please_."

The Warlord stared down at the hand, then he turned his head toward Dictatious.

"Leave us."

Gunmar turned to Oddball and the gathered Gumm-Gumms.

"All of you!"

His soldiers obeyed without question, but the advisor hesitated.

For a moment, It looked like Dictatious might argue. But then he bowed deeply and did as he was told.

The instant they were alone; Gunmar reached for Strickler. 

The changeling flinched, raising an arm to shield his face.

The Warlord's claws closed around a handful of Strickler's shirt collar. Without a word, he lifted him into his lap.

Strickler gasped quietly, rubbing at his throat as Gunmar settled back.

"You think that the boy could be useful to us?"

"I do, Gunmar."

The Gumm-Gumm King sighed; his throne crackling with energy as he took several long draughts from the dying heartstone.

"Tell me his weaknesses, Stricklander."

"Well, he can't remember historical dates to save his life. He's pulling a solid C- in Gym class, he runs a fifteen minute mile, and I'm almost certain he's failing his spanish-"

Gunmar reached toward Strickler's face. With one finger, he gently lifted the changeling's chin until their eyes met.

"Tell me his weaknesses." Gunmar repeated in a very low tone.

Strickler swallowed and looked away.

"He's afraid that his friends are only tolerating him. It's not true, everyone likes him, but he doesn't believe it. He jokes about being a third wheel, but he's genuinely worried about being replaced. Jim is his only human friend. "

Gunmar set his palm against Strickler's back.

"And?" The Gumm-Gumm King prodded.

Strickler closed his eyes, hating himself more with every word.

"Toby wants to be helpful. He wants to be wanted more than anything else. He loves Aaarrrgghh like family. His parents died when he was young. His grandmother is looking after him, and he loves her, but he feels smothered. His greatest fear is being left behind again..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter is just an excuse for Gunmar to say "What is dummy thicc?" In the exact same tone as "What is Nougat Nummy?" and I think the joy it sparks is valid.


	12. K.I.C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A study aid brings an attitude adjustment, and Strickler is ready to tell the world what he really thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of suggestive content. And cringe. Suggestive cringe. You won't lose anything by skipping it.

"No way am I keeping this secret from Jim!" half of Toby objected.

Strickler stopped mid-push. He leaned gainst the Inlustris Callis, wiping his forehead.

"I'm not asking you to hide it forever, just until after the Trial. He has enough on his shoulders without you adding to it."

When it became clear that Toby wouldn't fit from this angle, Strickler grabbed his arms and tugged him free of the mirror.

"Do you think Aaarrrgghh will be mad?" Toby asked.

Strickler shuddered at the thought of Aaarrrggh's reaction.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Toby gave a half-hearted snort.

"Ha. Good one. Bridge, Darklands." 

"Tobias, were you wearing your backpack when you came through earlier?"

"Oh, shoot! That's it!" Toby slipped out of his backpack and tossed it into the mirror. 

He started to follow but paused halfway.

"Just until the Trial's over."

"Only until then." Strickler agreed.

"You know that's in like, two days right?"

"I am excruciatingly aware of that, Tobias."

"Yeah, well. At least you've got the Elixlore, Right? That stuff's wild. Are you coming with?"

"No. I have the books Blinky lent me, and the Elixlore. The Darklands aren't ideal, but they do provide a quiet place to study. Something I recommend _you_ get a head start on."

"Fair enough. Hey, if you do leave, you might wanna rethink the look." He gestured up and down to the blood stains on Strickler's jacket.

Toby sighed, placing a hand across his heart.

"That poor emu. What makes a bird like that go bad? Was it a rough childhood, a pellet addiction, or did he just hatch with a feathery little heart full of hate?"

The corners of Strickler's mouth twitched, and he came very close to smiling.

"Goodbye, Mr. Domzalski." He gave Toby a push and the boy finally squeezed his way through the mirror. 

Alone at last, Strickler groaned quietly to himself. The adrenaline had worn off, and his ribs were beginning to throb in time with his heartbeat.

With a wince, he grabbed his phone and checked the time. 

He had a few hours before his lunch date with Barbara. 

Time to hit the library.

'Library' was a generous word for the grotto. Although there were dozens of shelves carved into the stone walls, all but one of them were bare. Even then, the only periodicals were a small collection of yellowed paperbacks, water-warped magazines, and a few pilfered hardcovers. 

Strickler recognized many of the hardbacks, since Dictatious had a habit of helping himself to the books he brought to pass the time.

  
The Advisor was busily hunched over a rock ledge, four moleskin notebooks spread out in front of him. Dictatious was writing in each one simultaneously.

"Let me know when you fill those." Strickler stated, "I can bring you more, as long as you continue to make yourself useful."

"I live to serve, O' Queen." Dictatious answered flatly. 

One of ball-point pens ran dry and he gave it shake. The advisor grumbled to himself before eating it. 

"What is it you're working on?" Strickler peered over Dictatious shoulder

He managed to glimpse a single line of text, something or other about red sands.

Dictatious slammed the notebook shut.

"None of your business, Impure!" The advisor hissed. He spread his arms over the books, gathering them to his chest like a broody hen with chicks.  
Strickler smiled thinly.

"How's your face?" He asked, making an absent gesture toward the gouges in the Troll's cheek.

"Oh, mine will heal, eventually," Dictatious sighed, "but I'm afraid yours is stuck like that forever." 

"I'm not going to dignify that. Why don't you run along? I've got quite a bit of research to do."

Dictatious bristled.

"Run along?" He repeated, "This is MY library!"

"Yes, and Gunmar has given me permission to take anything I need in the Darklands." Strickler was the epitome of 'casual' as he checked his nails. "I'll let you know when I'm finished with it."

"Hmph." Dictatious gathered his notebooks with the expression of someone indulging a spoiled child. He made his way out of the Library, and Strickler waited until he was almost out the door before reaching into his pocket.

The projectile was smaller than the blades he was used to throwing, but he was good at improvising. So he tucked it between his fingers, took aim, and threw it with an assassin's precison.

The Advisor yelped when the item struck him. He whirled around, clutching at his head as if he expected to find a knife embedded in his skull.

Instead of a blade, he pulled a candybar from where it had lodged in his stiff hair.

"Nougat Nummy Dark. It's only available in the fall, and Gunmar mentioned your sweet-tooth." Strickler explained, "Oh, and Dictatious?"

The Advisor stared impassively at the candy, then lifted his eyes to Strickler's face. 

"Thank you, for the tip about Newt."

Dictatious nodded after a moment. The smile he offered was still more of a sneer, but it was there.

"Yes, well, you obviously need all the help you can get, Stricklander." 

Strickler shrugged at that. He couldn't be offended when it was true.

"Oh, speaking of Newt," Dictatious added, "Did you make sure you---"

Before the advisor could finish speaking, three Gumm-Gumm thralls hurried into the room. One of them hunched down to whisper into his ear, and Dictatious' spine stiffened.

"What!? When?" He demanded, "Nevermind, I'll deal with it myself."

Before Strickler had a chance to ask what had happened; Dictatious hurried out of the library and the Gumm-Gumms quickly filed after him.

The Changeling frowned before deciding that it was for the best they hadn't clued him in. 

The last thing he needed was to borrow more problems.

Strickler made his way to the desk. Blinky's law books were stacked neatly at one end.

With a sigh, he grabbed one from the pile.

'In Defense of the Indefensible' by the Dishonorable Bodus.

Strickler pulled up a stool that looked like it might've been a ribcage at one point. He sat down, propping his elbow onto the desk before flipping to a random chapter.

**"In the life of each and every single troll there exists a single moment of the utmost, deepest regret, an instant that we long to cast to the wayside and never, ever speak of again. This is a perfectly natural response to Atrocity. Certain violations of tribal code are too horrifically terrible to utter aloud: such is the meaning of the word unspeakable. While a city may be burned to the ground, and the bodies of the innocent interred in the earth; Atrocities refuse to be buried. Equally as powerful as the desire to deny atrocities is the conviction that---"**

  
Strickler took one look at the redundant prose and felt a petty flare of pleasure at the knowledge that Bodus was dead. 

"Elixlore it is, then."

The bottle sloshed heavily as he pulled it from his jacket. He lifted it to the light, surprised to see that it was filled to the brim. Most Elixlore came in half or quarter batches.

The cork resisted at first, but with a faint grunt he managed to pull it free.

A pungent odor wafted from the bottle. A chemical-sting that filled his nostrils and made his eyes burn.

Strickler gagged.

"Nope. Not with a human tongue." 

"A drop for wizards, a draught for trolls." He murmured, holding the bottle to the light. 

Somewhere in between, for changelings.

Stricklander brought the bottle to his lips and tilted it, but he faltered at the last second.

It wasn't the most revolting thing he'd ever smelled, but it was certainly in the top ten.

"Come now, you've had worse than this in your mouth." he told himself, "And that was just your honeymoon."

He chuckled at his own joke, then sighed. 

"Alright. For Justice."

Stricklander threw his head back, upended the bottle and took a gulp.

A vibrant relish of black garlic and something close to limburger washed over his tongue. 

"Ulk!"

The changeling gagged violently.

There were **lumps** in it!

Stricklander clamped a hand to his mouth, struck with the horrified certainty that he was about to be violently sick.

But quite suddenly, the nausea vanished; replaced by a soothing warmth that seemed to to bloom through his limbs.  
A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine, and all of sudden, Stricklander was struck with inspiration. 

He knew exactly how to save Ceban! 

The Changeling laughed out loud.

His plan was perfect. It was wickedly simple, elegantly treacherous, absolutely...him!

Stricklander knew exactly what to do. 

His laughter died down to a few warbling chuckles as he corked the bottle and tied it to his loincloth with a strip of leather.

"Then again, when _don't_ I?"

The Gumm-Gumm soldier known as Strewth knocked a few burning coals aside and pulled a long needle from the fire.

He pressed his finger to the tip then gave a satisfied grunt at its sharpness. 

Strewth's comrade Grike was more of a scavenger than a soldier. Equal parts Quagawump and Trickster-Troll, with an uncanny talent for 'finding' things that belonged to dead Gumm-gumms.

Grike squirmed as Strewth placed the needle next to their flat, piggish ear.

With a rumble, Stewth raised his hammer, lined up the needle, and---

Grike threw themself out of the stone chair.

"Droh-Gragh! Droh-Gragh!!!" 

Depending on the context, this Gumm-Grumm phrase roughly translated to a plea for mercy. 

"Wait." or "Stop." or "Please-do-not-take-my-life."

Strewth threw his tools down and bellowed a response in the same language, this one, when translated meant;

"This-was-your-last-chance-you've-done-this-six-times-you-quivering-Glorkhole."

"Now, Now. There's no need to be so hard on him." Stricklander announced, stolling across the room to the pair, "No Troll in his right mind likes needles."

Grike bowed to the Queen, murmuring something sheepishly.

"Of course!" Stricklander declared, clasping his hands together. "No need to be so hard on **them** , right! Far be it for me to question someone's pronouns. Now, what was it you were thinking of getting?"

The Gumm-Gumm rose and shuffled over to a small box made of petrified wood. A dozen or so hand-forged earpieces were on on display, and Grike pointed to one of them.

"Ah, the iron hoops! Excellent choice. Those will look _fierce_. I'm rather partial to the silver myself."

As Grike and Strewth stared in bewilderment, the Gumm-Gumm Queen turned on his heel and dropped into the piercing chair.

"As a matter of fact, I'll take them. On one ear, I want the Bajoran, The Threader, aaaaand, why not! Throw in that charoite in the upper cartelidge. Now, for the other, give me a helix piercing. Three studs, and put three gold mini-hoops in the lower lobe. Come, Grike, isn't it? Sit with me. We'll get them done at the same time!" Stricklander leaned back, tucking his hands behind his head like a sunbather.

Grike looked from Stricklander to Strewth, painfully aware of what the other would think of them if they showed less courage than an impure. 

"I'll go first." Stricklander said reassuringly as Strewth aligned the needle, "Trust me, Nothing hurts more than the things you were too afraid to do. Pain is fleeting. Pain is inevitable. Pain reminds you that you're---"

The Hammer made a surprisngly soft 'clink' against the needle, and Stricklander let out a triumphant howl.

 **"-ALIVE!!!!"**

Grike managed to watch as Stricklander grinned through his first piercing. But as Strewth prepared the second needle, The Gumm-Gumm took one look at the changeling's bared teeth and bleeding ear. 

Then they crumpled to the ground in a dead faint.

_"I've got plans for us~ nights in the scullery and days instead of me I only know what to discuss~"_

Even though his ears felt like they were on fire, Stricklander sang cheerfully as he entered the Throneroom with his long tribunal cape trailing at his heels.

The Warlord rose from his throne as his mate approached.

But Stricklander piped up before he could speak.

  
"Ah! There he is, in the flesh! My dearest husband! The Black! The Brutal! The Skullcrusher!"

Stricklander set his hand over his heart and offered a sweeping bow.

"Did you get your horns sharpened? They look crueler than Parlock spears." 

"Stricklander---."

"You know, Gunmar, I love the way you say my name. You have the most charming bass-baritone. The best I've heard since Christoff's 'Aria of Atilla.'"

Gunmar was distinctly unused to being interrupted. He gave Stricklander a withering look; ignoring the compliment. 

"What have you done to yourself?" He growled; gesturing to his ears.

"I felt like rewarding myself. After all, _you_ never get me anything nice."

"I allow you to _live_ , Impure."

"Bold of you to assume that I want to live, Gunmar!" 

Gunmar's eye widened briefly, then narrowed. 

"Oh, don't look so grim, Truth be told, our arrangement hasn't been nearly as unpleasant as I expected. It certainly has its-"

Stricklander's voice trailed off. He lifted a hand to rub his chin thoughtfully, looking Gunmar up and down.

"-Perks, as the humans say."

"You are dressed to face the Tribunal." Gunmar stated in a tone that demanded answers.

Stricklander smirked.

"I felt like dressing up. I think I look rather good in black. Or should I say..."

He lifted a leg, placing his clawed foot flat against Gunmar's mid-driff.

Stricklander's hip bone popped and cracked as he flexed his calf, trying to push Gunmar back into his throne.

The Gumm-Gumm King stood unmoving.

"Gunmar, do you mind terribly?" 

Gunmar was silent; but after a moment he sat down.

"Thank you." Stricklander climbed up after him.

The changeling crossed his legs at the ankle, stretching out as comfortably as a cat in Gunmar's lap.

"Now, where were we? Ah, yes! I think I look rather good in black. Or should I say, The Black looks good on me."

Gunmar furrowed his brow as Stricklander chuckled to himself. He signaled to the guards at either side of his throneroom, and they quickly filed out. 

Once they had privacy, Gunmar pressed his snout to the changeling's ash-colored hair and sniffed him.

The warlord sneezed, then began to growl, a sound that would have been terrifying, if Stricklander didn't recognize it for what it was.

In their time together, he had learned that Gunmar had as many growls as he did moods.

This one was throaty, effervescent and sounded like a percolating coffeemaker.

"I know that tone." Stricklander grazed his fingertips along Gunmar's jaw, "What in the world does someone like _you_ have to worry about?"

Gunmar grabbed his hand; the Warlord's massive fist engulfing most of the changeling's wrist and forearm as well. 

"Stricklander," He said slowly, "Are you in season?"

Stricklander tried to keep a solemn face; to match Gunmar's solemn tone.

But he broke out into a grin, and doubled over, cackling to himself.

"Oh, Mother of Monsters no! I haven't gone into season since the War of the Roses!" 

Stricklander leaned in close, placing his free hand to the side of his mouth.

"Just between you and me, The Janus Order has developed a shot against going into season. A little prick avoids a larger one! Speaking of Semi-centennials, Mine's not due until..."

Here, the changeling pulled his cellphone from a pocket in the lining of his cape. 

Stricklander's smile faded as he peered down at his electronic calendar.

"Hm. Remind me to schedule an appointment next month."

Stricklander shrugged and set his phone aside.

"I'd love to stay and discuss the wonders of contraception with you. Really, I would. As a physical specimen You are simply.... tremendous." Stricklander sighed deeply. "I'm not sure what's more impressive, your crimes against humanity, or those rippling pectorals. Tell you what, Gunmar. When I'm finished with the Trollhunter, I'll grab us a bottle of Tokaji, a few dozen ribeyes, and perhaps for dessert..."

The changeling winked, made a clicking sound with his tongue, and pointed to himself with both thumbs.

Gunmar gripped the armrests of his throne, at a loss for words. 

And just lost in general.

After a few sips of heartstone energy, he gathered his thoughts, and managed to find a response.

"We've discussed this, Stricklander. I am not going to eat you."

The changeling chuckled warmly and switched to human form. Then, Strickler leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Gunmar's cheek.

"Dark Underlord, the stalkling party is ready to---"

Dictatious took one look at Gunmar and Stricklander and came to sudden stop at the foot of the stairs.

"Nevermind, I'll have Alamastia lead the hunt."

He backed away, then turned and hurried out of the throneroom.

"You know, Gunmar." Strickler said, "I need one of those."

Gunmar said nothing, but he seemed to be listening.

"An advisor, an assistant. I can't begin to tell you how much easier my life would be with a secretary. But! I digress."

Strickler hopped down from the throne and started toward the looking glass.

"Remember, Gunmar! tokaji and Ribeye, I expect romance! Candelight!" 

"What of the imprisoned Impure?"

"Oh, I'm going to fake his death!"

"You're _what_?"

But Strickler was singing again.

_I"'ve got time to kill~ Sly looks in corridors without a plan of yours a blackbird sings on bluebird hill~ thanks to the calling of the wild~ Wise man's child~"_

And before Gunmar could demand an answer, he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"---So while the theory is easily broken down into dim(d, r, g) ≥ ρ = g − (r+1)(g − d+r) the real mystery is not the result of the equation, but why it was named the Brill-Noether Theory when Max Noether's true name was actually---"

  
The piece of chalk in Strickler's hand moved so quickly that it looked like it might cast sparks against the blackboard. With huge, sweeping strokes he crossed out the name Max Noether and beneath it, wrote 

"--Noiallan the Nitid! That's Nitid! N-I-T-I-D. While many think this name came from his talent of blinding his enemies with flare crystals, it actually arose from a nickname. You see, Noiallan had a shiny shell of Kornerupine right across his---"

"Excuse me, acting Principle Strickler?" Claire Nunez cut in, raising her hand as high as it would go.

"Yes, Ms. Nunez! I know you're top of your class in this subject, but that's no reason to stop learning! What is your question?"

"Uh---"

To be fair, there were a good deal of questions that Claire had every right to ask.

_'Why are you back at school instead of getting ready for the trial?'_

_'Why are you risking my adoptive brother and everyone else by teaching a math lesson on changelings?'_

_'What the what are you wearing?'_

She settled on the last one.

"Is that a new jacket?"

"What, this old thing?"

Strickler looked very pleased with himself as he adjusted the lapels of his leather jacket.

"It's an original 1977 Schott Perfecto. I found it in the back of my closet."

"Looking slick, Mr. Strickler!" Eli Pepperjack chimed in from the back of the classroom.

"Elijah, the instant you overcome your crippling self esteem issues, you are going to change the world. You are an absolute beacon of kindness and optimism, tempered only by your paranoia and unmedicated anxiety."

"Um, Gee, thanks! I try to stay positive. Hi, Jim!" 

Eli waved as Jim rushed into the classroom, grabbing Strickler's arm.

"Mr. Strickler, We need to talk." The Trollhunter said sharply.

"Believe it or not, I agree with you." Strickler declared, "There's something I want to discuss concerning your mother." 

A murmur of 'ooooo's' rose from the other students, and Jim's expression hardened.

"Come on." He said, grabbing Strickler by the shoulders and pushing him out of classroom.

"I'd better go with!" Claire piped up. She shoved her books into her backpack and quickly started for the door. "Just to make sure things don't get out of hand."

"Coast is clear!" Toby poked his head out of the principle's office and waved the group in.

"What are you doing here, Strickler?" Jim demanded, "I thought you weren't coming back until next month!"

"Forget that," Claire added after checking to be sure the door was locked, "Why were you telling the math class about a changeling?"

"You can't keep just showing up places, Mr. S! We're on the same team now, you gotta communicate with us!"

Strickler lifted his hands toward the group in placating gesture, a patient smile warming his features.

"Settle down, all of you. Alright, Let's start in order in of appearance;"

He pointed two fingers to Jim.

"Ms. Janneth had to take a phone call, so I thought I'd step in until she got back."

Then to Claire,

"I'm simply trying to give credit where credit is due. It hardly seems fair that Noiallan did the research and died securing the ringstone while his familiar is the one whose name goes down in history."

Then, to Toby,

"I am not your teammate, I am your Teacher. As long as I provide you with the knowledge and tools you need to survive, then I'm doing my job." 

Here, he gave Toby a pat on the head.

"Not to worry, T.P! I've kept you three alive this long, so don't stop me now!" 

At that, he began to hum a Queen song to himself.

"That still doesn't explain why you're in school." Jim insisted, "What about Ceban? The trial is this weekend!"

"Oh, I've got that figured out." Stickler pulled a book on archaeology from the shelf, thumbing through it.

"Alrighty." Strickler slammed the book shut and tossed it over his shoulder. " First things first; we need to capture a Volcanic Troll."

"A volcanic troll?" Toby parroted.

"Yes. You know, Symbiotic scoria trolls." Strickler took one look at the trollhunters and sighed.

"Volcanic Trolls. Stong, Silent Types, Fragrance Masks, single-minded devotion to Gatto?"

"Yeah, we know them." Jim confirmed, "but why do we need to capture one?"

"For the glamour mask; of course!"

"Glamour mask?" Claire repeated.

"Is there an echo in here?" Strickler sighed, steepling his fingers together as he spoke.

"We capture a volcanic troll. We have Ceban throw himself on the mercy of the Tribunal. Because they are trolls, they'll have no mercy and declare him guilty. When that happens, Ceban will attempt to escape. He'll take his defense Council Not-Enrique hostage, and Our Valiant Trollhunter will chase him to the gyre station. Toby and I will be waiting there with the Volcanic Troll, and we'll make the exchange. Then, We drag the Volcano Troll glamoured as Ceban back to the Tribunal, and I will declare the Janus Order's uncompromising devotion to Justice and Trollmarket before stabbing 'Ceban' through the heart. The Tribunal is satisfied with the execution. The Trollmarket Changelings see we won't tolerate rule breakers, and the real Ceban and Kovi will make new lives in the Janus Order's Shanghai branch. It's that simple!" 

"We are _not_ doing that. For _so many reasons._ " Jim stated.

"Okay, Something is definitely not right." Claire added.

"Trollhunter Huddle." Jim ordered.

The three trollhunters gathered together and began whispering.

"Maybe he's having a reaction to iron?"

"No way. Remember the charm bracelet? Nomura says iron hurts changelings, it doesn't change their personalities." 

Behind them, Strickler made his way from window to window and drawing the blinds shut. 

"Gravesand in his coffee?" 

"I've been on Gravesand, it makes you angry, not--whatever _this_ is." 

"And it's definitely not Gunmar controlling him?"

"C'mon, Claire, why would Gunmar make him dress like he's having a mid-life crisis?"

There was a flash of green light, and Jim, Claire, and Toby looked up from their huddle.

"Wait, WHAT---" 

"Oh, _wow_." 

"Awsomesaaaaauce!"

Toby ran to Stricklander's side, grinning as he looked at his earrings.

"What are those, some sorta Gumm-Gumm war jewelry?"

"Hardly. What do you think, are they too much?"

"Nah, It's weird, but like Glam Rock weird. You look like a drow from Talons and Maces!" 

"That's what I was going for!"

Jim looked between Stricklander and Toby, then back to the changeling.

The Trollhunter paled.

"Oh, No." Jim whispered, "Oh, noooo...."

"What?" Claire put an arm around his waist protectively, "Jim, What's wrong?"

Jim set his hand over hers, then cleared his throat.

"Mr. Strickler," He asked, "What would you think about the four of us getting tattoos?"

"That sounds like a splendid idea!!! We could get our personal elemental signs! OH! Or, our spirit animals!"

Jim, Claire, and Toby all wore the same sudden look of understanding.

"Grit Shaka." They said in unison.

"I'll call Blinky." Claire announced, pulling out her cell phone.

"I'll text Otto." Toby added.

Stricklander snapped the cap off his pen, and began pushing books aside to access the secret lock in his bookshelf.

Jim quickly pulled him away.

"Wait, why do you have Otto's number?" Claire looked up from her texting to peek over Toby's shoulder.

"Otto's not so bad, he helped save Aaarrgghh!" Toby explained, "Plus, he gave me like fifty cans of leftover popcorn from the Janus Order's fundraiser. Aaaand Sent!" 

"Strickler said not to trust Otto, Tobes!" Jim protested.

"Well I can't unsend the message!" 

"Interim Principle-Teacher Strickler, Are you in there?" 

An Austrian-Accented voice boomed on the other side of the door, and the handle rattled as Señor Uhl tried to open it. 

"Out the window, Quick!" Toby crossed the room, reaching for the blinds.

Claire grabbed his wrist.

"No, you dingus! That'll let light in! Mr. Strickler's in Troll form!"

Her eyes widened in horror,

"Strickler's in troll form!!!"

"Okay," Jim grabbed Stricklander's shoulders and turned him to face them, "You need to change back, right now!"

"I have known Karl Uhl for nineteen years, and he hasn't even met me!" Stricklander shoved Jim away, "I'm sick of hiding! I am a changeling, and I have nothing to be ashamed of! It is high time I introduced myself!" 

Toby threw himself at the changeling, grabbing one of his arms as he started toward the door. Claire grabbed his other arm, grunting with effort as she was dragged forward.

"Jim, a little help here?"

"Who is in there?" Señor Uhl demanded.

There was a jangle that sounded suspiciously like keys.

"Jim's Mom!" Claire said suddenly, "Mr. Strickler, if you have to explain changelings now, you'll be late for your date with Doctor Lake!"

Stricklander paused and cocked his head to the side at that.

"Barbara." He sighed quietly, "I'd hate keep her waiting."

"Right, Barbara." Claire gave Jim an apologetic look.

"Could you change back for her? PLEASE?" Toby begged.

Stricklander grabbed the bottle hanging from his side and took a quick swig from it.

"Alright, under the desk, all three of you." 

The Trollhunters quickly ducked down as Strickler shifted back into his human shape. 

The door burst open a second later.

"What is the meaning of---" Señor Uhl nearly knocked Strickler over as he charged into the room, looking around. 

"I thought I heard voices."

"I was talking to myself." Strickler explained, "I always did have a penchant for intelligent conversation.

The Spanish teacher prowled around the office, as if he expected to find students lurking in every corner. 

"Sorry to hear about your vacation, Walter. What brings you back to Arcadia Oaks so early?"

Strickler went to the desk, dropping into his chair and pulling it forward. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the three trollhunters squirm and re-adjust themselves as he blocked them from view with his knees.

"Oh, I just thought I'd drop by and make sure everything was running smoothly in my absence."

"Actually, I am glad you stopped in." Señor Uhl remarked, "We're going to be short-handed when it comes to the fundraising Haunt and Masquerade Dance. It seems they will both fall on the same day as the Science Fair. I know that you're not due back until November, but is it at all possible you could lend a hand on the thirty-first?"

"Let me guess, Karl. You need a Judge for the Science Fair, a Chaperone for the dance, and someone to rally volunteers for the haunt?" Strickler leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk.

"That is correct." Before Señor Uhl could say more, Strickler interrupted him.

"Say no more! You can count me in. For all three."

"All three? Are you sure it won't be more than you can handle?" Señor Uhl asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Trust me, Karl. You have no idea what I'm capable of. I'm a man of many faces."

"I think you mean a man of many hats, Walter."

The changeling smiled to himself.

"That, too."

By the time Señor Uhl was finished talking with Strickler, Toby was groaning that his legs would never wake up again.

  
"Oh, suck it up." Strickler retorted, "You don't see me complaining about my fractured ribs."

"Fractured ribs?" Claire asked as she tugged Toby out from under the desk.

"Nothing to worry about! You should see the state I'm in when Gunmar _doesn't_ pull his punches."

"Gunmar hits you?" Jim turned to look at Strickler; examining the changelings face.

"It's nothing personal, he hits _everyone._ " Strickler explained. 

For a moment, his smile faltered, but another sip from the bottle set it back in place.

"What are you drinking?" Claire wrinkled her nose at the smell of garlic.

"Liquid Inspiration! This Elixlore is incredible!"

"Right, Listen." Jim moved forward slowly, as if he expected Strickler to bolt, "I know exactly how you're feeling right now. I get it. You feel good, like you can take on the world. But the Grit Shaka is messing with your head. Rule Number One of Trollhunting is 'Always be afraid.' Fear keeps you alive, and a lot of people are counting on you staying alive."

"I'm not wearing a Grit Shaka." Strickler scoffed, "The green would clash with my jacket."

"Don't make us do this the hard way." 

Strickler's eyes flashed yellow, and he hunched down slightly.

A playful grin split his face.

"Just because we're allies now doesn't mean I won't school you, Young Atlas."

"For the Glory of Melin, Daylight is mine to command!"

As The Trollhunter and changeling circled each other, someone started tapping on the window.

"What took you!?" Toby demanded, pulling open the blinds. 

The brown-haired man climbed through the window with the casual talent of someone used to breaking and entering. 

"Scarbaach!" Strickler exclaimed, cheerfully looking away from the Trollhunter, "If it isn't my least favorite nestmate!"

" _Du verdreht missgebur_ t." The Disguised Otto hissed under his breath, "It is Woodstock all over again!" 

Jim lunged while Strickler was distracted; grabbing his left arm and jerking it behind his back.

The changeling let out a startled yelp as he was forced to his knees.

"Get the Grit Shaka!" Jim shouted.

In an instant, Otto had crossed the room and wrenched strickler's jacket open. He pulled down the Spymaster's turtleneck; revealing a pale throat and collarbone lined with scars. 

"He is not wearing a Grit Shaka." the polymorph growled.

"Or..." Here, Toby winced deeply, "He's not wearing it on his neck."

Otto didn't answer. He had found the bottle tucked into Strickler's coat pocket.

"Could the Elixlore be what's making him crispy?" Claire wondered out loud.

Otto pulled the corked from the bottle and took a whiff.

"That---" Here, the polymorph dry heaved a bit, "Does not smell like Elixlore. The others are waiting for us back at the Janus Order. Perhaps our friends in Trollmarket will help shed a little light on the situation."

"Alright, but you better not try anything." Claire drew out her shadow staff and summoned a portal. 

She and Jim exchanged a look of silent agreement across the room.

They'd trust Otto. At least for now.

"Well I can say for sure he's not wearing a Grit Shaka."

Nomura made a face as she leaned against the wall. The stark lighting of the Janus Order's interrogation room made her eyes seem even brighter than usual.

"Thank's for checking for us," Jim said, "I really owe you one."

"For that you owe me a three course meal." She retorted, "You can cook it for me on monday."

" _Quatsch!_ It's nothing you haven't seen before." Otto said.

"Whoa, whoa!" Toby stood on his tip-toes to cover Jim's ears, "Minors in the room, dude!"

"Didn't he turn eighteen this year?" Nomura asked off-hand.

"Yeah, but I didn't!" Toby grimaced.

"Oh, this reminds me of old times! Remember, Jim?" 

Being tied to a rolling chair had done little to slow Stickler down, and he scooted across the room to join the group. 

"Remember? Our team-up against Angor Rot? I know Otto does." Strickler gave the Polymorph a pointed look.

"How long are we going to keep him tied up?" Toby asked, pushing Strickler back to the other end of the room.

"Just until Claire and Blinky find out what was in that bottle, and how to undo it." Jim took out his phone, checking it for the fifth time in as many minutes.

Suddenly, the screen lit up, and a cheerful ringtone began to play.

"Hey, I'm getting a facetime!" 

Otto, Nomura, and Toby crowded around the trollhunter as he answered the call.

A massive blue eye filled the screen. 

"He's in there?" chimed an unfamiliar voice.

"No," Claire's voice was filled with exasperation. "You have to hold it like this."

The camra shifted and the face of a black condundrum troll came into view.

"Hello, Trollhunter! I'm Newt. So, I've got some good news, and I got some bad news."

"Okay?" Jim squinted at the screen, "What's the good news?"

"I've got the Elixlore right here!" Newt smiled and held up a bottle identical to the one he'd given Strickler. "You can pick it up any time!"

"What's the bad news?"

"About that..."

Before Newt could finish, another hand grabbed the cellphone, and Blinky's face appeared on screen.

"This lunatic tried to ferment Garlic-Sock wine infused with Grit-Shakas!" He shouted.

"It's an old family recipe." Newt added, "You get a month-old gym sock, and strain the black garlic through it, then you---"

"WHY would you put Grit Shakas in wine!?" Jim groaned.

"I was trying to make liquid courage." Newt explained, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"How long until this 'Liquid Courage' wears off?" Otto demanded.

"Oh, Right, See; I broke the bottle open, and there were six Grit Shaka in it." Newt stated, tapping his thumbs together.

"So?"

"I put in seven."

A heavy silence fell over the room in the Janus order, broken only by the sound of Strickler spinning in his chair.

After a moment, Toby gave a deep sigh.

"I'll go get the chicken surprise."

"I'm afraid it is not that simple." Otto shook his head, "We changelings practice mithridatism."

"I'm Jewish, myself." Toby shrugged.

"Not mysticism, mithridatism. It means---"

"It's means Strickler's immune to poisons." Claire said into the phone, "Which probably includes Chicken Surprise."

"I do that too, since I test all my potions on myself." Newt chirped. 

"Twinsies!" Strickler declared.

Nomura had been silent until now, but suddenly, she spoke up.

"What about Bular's vitamins?"

"Bular's _what?_ " Jim said in disbelief.

"His vitamins!" Strickler answered, "Bular had a sensitive stomach, and a horrible habit of eating things he shouldn't. The Janus Order whipped up some herbal pills to help cleanse his system. It wasn't pretty, but it was either that or deal with him whining about indigestion for days on end!"

"There may be some left in the vespa warehouse." Otto stated. 

Nomura shuddered at that.

"A vespa warehouse? Can I come?" Toby gave Otto his brightest, most winning smile.

The polymorph grumbled something in German.

"Fine, but you will make yourself useful."

"Awsomesauce! So that means I pump the gas and run in to grab snacks for the Goblins?"

_"Natürlich."_

Strickler was quiet for an hour, occasionally humming a few bars of Rihanna. But quite suddenly, his face fell and he spoke up.

"Young Atlas, may I speak to you alone?"

Nomura and Jim exchanged looks.

"I thought we agreed to gag him." Nomura said.

"We should. It's like he's been dosed with truth serum or something." Jim looked a bit guilty.

"A changeling's worst fear is that their secrets will be discovered." Nomura gestured toward Strickler with a polished claw, "Take away fear, then you take away secrecy."

"Jim, I would like to ask permission to marry your mother."

Nomura and Jim froze.

After a minute, Nomura cleared her throat.

"I'll go find that gag."

Jim released his armor once she left the room.

"Strickler, You don't know what you're saying."

"I've given this a lot of thought as of late. You're going to graduate this year."

"That's debatable."

"Jim, listen to me."

For the first time, Strickler's grin truly vanished. Some of the light faded from his eyes, leaving him looking unbearably tired.

"I'm old, Jim. Quite possibly the oldest living changeling. My kind do not die of old age, we outlive our usefulness. It's only a matter of time."

"That's not going to happen. I promised I wouldn't let anybody hurt you."

"Enough." Strickler's troll voice was husky and sounded sore coming from his human throat. "You've grown since then. I like to think I have as well. You are eighteen years old. I have lived dozens of your lifetimes. I've come to learn that it isn't a child's place to protect an adult."

**_Jim, standing on his tiptoes in a dark cell lined with razor sharp orange crystals._ **

**_Jim, unaware that strickler was watching._ **

**_Jim, pushing half of a candybar through a hole in the stone so Nomura could have it_**.

"As leader of the Janus Order, I have resources. Academic Connections, Swiss bank accounts, property titles. If I marry your mother, it will be easier to name you as my beneficiary. You would never have to worry about a student loan, or medical debt. You could focus solely on your Trollhunter and Education without the stress of a nine-to-five job. You could have some semblance of a _life_."

"Strickler," Jim stopped and cleared his throat, " You don't have to do any of that. I already told you, I can take care of myself. You don't need to pretend to be my father."

"Yes, I do."

_"Why?"_

"Because I love you, Young Atlas."

As the words fell from his lips, it was like a burden had been lifted. Once more, Strickler began to smile, and he used his foot to spin the rolling chair in a circle.

"High Ranking changelings like myself aren't allowed to have families. Even before all this mess, you were my favorite student. Now that I've gotten to know you, how could I not love you like a son? You're compassionate, you're brave, you inspire everyone you meet. You gave me mercy. I've been around since Boudica's Uprising, and you're the first person to ever do so. And I was your _enemy_."

He spun a few more times, then came to a stop facing Jim.

"I want to take care of you and your mother. I'm asking you as a courtesy."

"Mr. Strickler, She doesn't know you're a changeling!"

"Barbara never has to know! Do you have any idea how many of your classmates have a changeling parent? Most of my brethren marry politicians and presidents, people with influence. Their spouses never know that they are anything except human! It could be the same with your mother."

"I'm not going to help you _lie_ to her!"

"Oh, what's the harm? You're lying to her about being the Trollhunter!"

Jim's hands curled into fists, and he said nothing.

"Jim, do you happen to have the time?" Strickler asked, off-hand. 

The Trollhunter wiped at his eyes and pulled out his Cellphone.

"Yeah, its a quarter till twelve."

"Mm." Strickler hummed to himself. "It'll be close, but I think I can make it."

"Make what?" Jim looked up, just in time to be blinded by a flash of neon green light.

The ropes binding him burst from the force of Stricklander's transformation. Jim let out a startled yelp, ducking for cover as the changeling beat the air with his wings.

"If you need me to tell her I'm a changeling, then that's what I'll do!" He declared cheerfully.

"You have wings!? When did you get wings!?" The Trollhunter shouted.

Instead of answering, Stricklander settled lightly on his feet, and pressed on the Janus Order's logo embedded in the wall.

With a stony grating sound, the ceiling slowly began to open, clearly a torture technique to use on trolls.

Jim staggered to his feet and threw himself across the room, trying to grab his former enemy.

"Mr. Strickler, DON'T---"

"I'll take care of everything, Jim!"

The changeling laughed, spreading his wings and taking to the air.

All Jim could do was watch his mentor fly away; the sunlight shining harmlessly off his serpentine hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The paragraph used for Bodus' 'In Defense of the Indefensible' is a mangled reproduction of an amazing quote by Judith Lewis Herman, an American Psychatrist who has fascinating things to say about trauma and criminal justice. The song Strickler was singing is The Riddle by Gigi D'Agostino.


	13. In Defense of the Indefensible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Trollhunters work to cure Strickler, He settles on a plan to face the Troll Tribunal one last time; for the fate of Ceban, and to defend all Trollmarket Changelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild references to drug use in this one.

Two years ago, the Gumm-Gumm Prince ruled his father's changelings with an iron fist and imposing manner; The Skullcrusher's Vicious Heir, seated upon a throne of rust.

  
Today, Fragwa, with a cheezedoodle-stained fist sat upon a throne a rust.

"Jim's not gonna believe this!" Toby said, lining up the picture. "Vespa Engines!"

A few morw goblins hopped onto the throne, leaning into the frame with their legs tucked to their sides like bloated grasshoppers.

"On three. Fragwa, I'm not gonna take the picture if you hold your finger that way, Let's keep it classy. Ok, One, Two---"

The camera's flash illuminated the abandoned vespa warehouse and the goblins shrieked; scattering at the sudden light.

"Guys. We've been over this, if you want a photo, it's gonna flash!" Toby huffed, "This picture's no good, you blinked! Claire, what do you think? Can we fix this one in photoshop?"

Claire used her staff to knock over a pile of bones.

"I think it's crazy how fast you were able to make friends with Goblins."

Half of a human skull rolled from the pile, and Claire recoiled.

Blinky was beside her in an instant, setting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Goblins do not form friendships, especially with creatures outside their own species." He said, turning her away from the gruesome sight, "However, they are drawn to two things; Creatures that invoke a large amount of fear, such as Gunmar."

  
"And in my case?" Toby asked, hugging his backpack as two or three Fragwa's friends crawled over him.

"Creatures that allow them to steal scraps. Or, in this instance, po-ta-to chips."

Aaarrgghh let out a warning snort. His hot breath knocked a few of them away, and the goblins that managed to hold their grip took one look at his expression before deciding to let Toby keep his backpack.

Claire gave them a wide berth as she made her way toward a cloth-covered wall.

"Could the medicine be back here?"

Her fingers barely brushed against the blood-stained fabric before it fell away, revealing a mural in vast, sweeping splotches of faded brown. 

"Toby, you have got to see this."

"Whoa, did Bular make that?" Toby came to a stop beside Claire, tilting his head back to try and take in the entire three-tiered picture.

Bular at the top, holding the amulet above his head. Humans below, with hands raised in worship. And on the very bottom, taking up most of the wall, a dark silhouette, a featureless portrait of a massive, one-eyed Troll who could only be Gunmar.

"Who knew he was a painter!"

Toby exclaimed.

Aaarrgghh guided the two humans away from the mural.

"Not paint." the gentle giant murmured.

A loud clang made the Trollhunter's jump, and somewhere behind them Otto cursed in German. A small pack of blue goblins scattered as a precarious stack of vespa parts began to topple over. One of them froze in place, lifting an arm to shield it's face as two hundred pounds of metal fell toward it.

Aaarrrgghh lunged forward, scooping the goblin into one paw just as the vespa parts crashed to the ground.

"Nice save, Aaarrrgghh!" Toby shouted, lifting his hand for a fistbump.

Otto rolled his eyes as the goblin hissed something in its native tongue, glowering at being picked up.

However, when Aaarrrgghh set it down, the goblin smiled and lifted the treasure it had found digging through the vespa.

"Cheen-ching." It rasped, giving the pill bottle a smug shake.

Otto snatched it away, peering down at the label.

After a moment, he gave a nod of confirmation.

"Well then! That solves one of our myriad problems." Blinky announced, looking hopeful.

His warm voice brought a wave of reassurance washed to the group, an untensing of shoulders and exchanging of nervous smiles. The grim air of the warehouse seemed to lighten with the possibility that things might work out after all.

But then Blinky's cellphone rang.

"Wait, it's hard to hear you above the traffic! Did you just say he flew out the window?" Toby asked.

He and Claire jostled for space as two trolls, a polymorph, and a half-dozen Goblins all crowded around the cellphone.

  
"YES! Strickler sprouted these huge dragon wings and flew out the window! He can fly in daylight!" Jim shouted, "I'm chasing him down, but he's really---"

A car horn blared, and suddenly a horrible crackling noise exploded over the speakerphone.

"Jim? JIM?" Claire grabbed the cellphone from Blinky, "Are you okay?"

"I'm-it missed me. But he got away. My Vespa blew a tire, and now my screen's shattered and I just-I don't know what to do! I can't catch him on foot. I can't-"

Blinky took the phone from Claire.

"Remain calm, Master Jim. You have overcome worse than this. And you are not alone. You have friends on all sides, and together, we shall not falter in the face of adversity, but lift each other to greater---Excuse me!?"

Blinky sounded mortally offended as Otto plucked the phone out of his hand.

"I doubt any of your 'friends' know how to handle a Code Harpocrates. Fortunately, I do." Otto stated, as cool and pale as a glass of milk, "Alright, _Trolljäger._ We will meet inside the French Bistro."

He gestured to Claire, and without arguing, she drew out her shadow-staff.

"Now," Otto's eyes glinted yellow, "This is what we are going to do..."

Barbara stirred her lukewarm coffee and sighed.

She'd volunteered for three back-to-back shifts to justify taking a two hour lunch, and it was beginning to look like Walter had stood her up.

After what happened at the Pumpkin Patch, she wasn't sure she blamed him.

Her cellphone buzzed, and she fumbled her spoon trying to grab it. The utensil bounced off her chest.

"Really?" Barbara sighed again, wiping fruitlessly at the coffee spatters on her white shirt.

A familiar hand appeared in front of her face offering a perfectly folded lace handkerchief.

"Please! Allow me." Strickler declared, leaning forward to dab at the stains.

"Walter!" Barbara pushed the chair away, standing up to greet him.

He, in turn, wrapped his arm around her waist, cupped the back of her head;

And before she could say another word; Strickler dipped Barbara backward for a long, lingering kiss.

" _Wow._ " Barbara chuckled and adjusted her fogged up glasses, "So does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?"

"Why would I ever be angry with you?" Strickler grinned, pulling her chair out for her.

"Well, you've been ignoring my calls. I just thought you were upset about the Pumpkin Patch." Her voice trailed off as Strickler sat across from her, propping his chin on his knuckles.

  
"Of course I'm not upset. You're Jim's mother. He will always be be your number one priority. Do I have to like it? Of course not! I'm petty and starved for affection. But! I accept it. One of the very reasons I fell horns over heels for you is your devotion to your son."

"I-" Barbara blinked, "Horns over heels?"

"I'll explain soon enough." Strickler smiled, lifting her hand to his lips.

"Well, I didn't feel very devoted Wednesday. That bird attacked Jim and I just _froze_."

"You were in shock. There's nothing to feel bad about. I, on the other hand made an absolute troll of myself. I can only imagine what you must think of me."

"What I think of you? Walt, What you did at the Pumpkin Patch was one of the craziest, bravest thing I've ever seen. I'm just sorry I didn't think of it first!"

Strickler's smile fell.

"Believe me, Barbara, I'm not brave."

A waitress popped by, setting down a plate. Perched in the center was a perfect chocolate-pistachio biscotti, flanked by a circle of whipped cream flowers.

"That looks amazing!" Barbara exclaimed, "But I didn't order this."

"It's on the house, darling." The woman's accent twisted the word, making the 'g' sound like a 'k'. "I saw you waiting for half an hour and thought you could use a pick-me-up."

She took a notepad out of her pocket, and grabbed a pen from behind her ear. "What'll it be?" She asked, giving Strickler a pointed look.

"Nothing for me, thanks." he waved her away, not taking his eyes off Barbara.

"We've got a nice batch of Ginger Root tea."

"I'm not in the mood for tea, Though I might fancy a dip in the lake, later." Strickler winked as the waitress backed away slowly.

Barbara choked on her biscotti.

"What has gotten into you, Walt?"

"That's a subject for another time. Right now, there's something I need to tell you. Something I should've said long ago."

Barbara winced and set a hand over her midsection.

"Hold that thought, I'll be right back." She pushed herself away from the table and hurried into the cafe.

Strickler turned in his seat to watch her go.

After a moment, he shrugged, stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a dusty switchblade comb.

Humming to himself, he flicked the comb out and ran it through his hair. If his hair was well-kept, his mane would be as well.

Strickler's hands were steady. A little bit clammy, but he was ready for this.

Barbara might just accept him. She was an open-minded sort, and she'd had no trouble clinging to him the last time she saw his troll form.

Of course, that was when Angor Rot was trying to kill her, but still...

He'd already decided to continue protecting her, whatever the outcome may be.

 _Even if_ she was disgusted by his troll form and chose to end their relationship.

Then again, that was the thing about being a pessimist.

Either he'd be proven right, or pleasantly surprised.

"Alright." Barbara pulled a cloth from her blue scrub top, cleaning her glasses as she sat back down. "What's going on with you, Walt?"

Strickler grabbed her hands; in wonder of how small and perfect they were. Every little callus, every neatly clipped nail, even the tiny scar on her finger; a memento from where he cut himself with Daylight.

He wanted to memorize all of it, just in case this was the last time she let him hold them.

"Forgive me if I ramble, I'm not use to doing this. Barbara,"

He gave her hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them.

"What I'm going to say will go against everything you know about the natural world. I'm going to ask you to believe some things that sound like a fairytail, but it's true. First of all, Magic is real. Magic and pixies, wizards, soulmates, trolls---."

Strickler closed his eyes, his smiling fading.

But then another wave of warmth from the Totem helped him set it back into place.

"Magic is real and monsters are real, as well. I am, _I was_ , one of them. I've been a terrible person, in the name of survival, and self-service. But if you believe anything of what I'm about to say, please, let it be this. As long as I'm alive, nothing is going to happen to you or Jim. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means losing you both forever."

"Walter, you're scaring me." Barbara pushed her tea toward him, "I want you to take a drink, then breathe in through your nose for a count of ten. Drink, then breathe with me."

"I am not having a psychotic break!" Strickler insisted, rising to his feet. "I have proof! I'll show you!"

"Where are we going?" Barbara winced as Strickler pulled her to her feet and dragged her away from the cafe.

"The forest. That way we'll have privacy, and you won't feel trapped when you see the real me."

"The real you? What---"

Barbara stopped as Strickler grabbed his car-keys. There was a cheerful chur-churp sound as a slate-colored Aston Martin flashed it's headlights.

"Did you get a new car?" Barbara asked as Walter opened the door for her, "how did you afford this?"

"I used my Black Card. It gives me direct access to the Janus Order's slush fund. That isn't what it's meant for, but what's a little embezzlement between friends?"

"Let me drive," Barbara reached for the keys.

"No, only spies can drive spy-cars. Besides, you'll just try and have me committed."

She grabbed his wrist with fingers like ice. "Walter, Look at me. I don't know what's wrong but you're clearly in no state to drive. I need to know what you took so I can help you."

"Barbara, I give you my word, I do not take illicit substances."

He paused,

"None that are illegal, at least. There is the occasional stress relieving 'organic' brownie, but that is a once a month treat. Please, don't be angry. I'd never let Jim find them, let alone---"

"I'm not angry," Barbara brushed at her glistening eyes, "I'm _terrified_. I love you, Walt. Whatever's going on in your life, whatever's making you act like this, I want to be there for you. Please, help me understand. Because if this is how you're going to act from now on, I'm not sure..."

she looked away.

"I can't let you around Jim."

Strickler slipped the car keys into Barbara's hand and climbed out of the driver's seat.

"Take me to the forest, and give me thirty minutes to explain. If you still think I need to be committed after, then I'll go quietly. Barbara, please, I don't say this lightly. I'm asking for your trust."

Doctor Lake looked at him for a long while.

Some time later, the Aston Martin pulled out of the parking spot, and drove in the direction of the forest.

"When you say horns, do you mean, like a deer?"

"No. Well, have you ever seen a springbok?"

Strickler pushed a branch out of the way, holding Barbara's hand as he helped her over a fallen log.

"And these fangs---"

"Really, they're more like tusks."

"Tusks, then. Are they just on your lower jaw?"

"Top and bottom. Mouth like a blender, but I brush after every meal. This should be far enough."

Strickler turned to face Barbara, walking backward a few steps.

"I'll keep my hands raised, so you don't feel threatened."

"Alright," Barbara set her hands on her hips, "So, you're a change-thing, and I need to be prepared for horns, fangs, and skin made of...emerald, was it?"

"It's either serpentine or apatite, I've never had it tested. But yes. Should I count down, so you have a chance to brace yourself or...?"

"No, I'm ready as I'll ever be."

Strickler smiled and took one last step backward. When he felt like there was a comfortable distance between them, he extended his arms, rolled back his head, and let the change wash over him.

It felt _good._

It felt like finally letting go of a breath he'd been holding for _far too long_.

Stricklander kept his eyes closed, preparing himself for the sight of Barbara running away.

When he finally opened them, it was just in time to watch her collapse to the ground.

"Barbara!" Stricklander rushed to her side, crouching down and lifting the doctor into a sitting position.

"Walter! You're---You're---" Barbara shook like a leaf, lifting a hand to her mouth.

"I am a half troll, and your son, your valiant son, is the Trollhunter, a champion dedicated to protecting the balance between trolls and humanity. I wasn't always on the right side of that balance, but I...I've changed. You changed me. Barbara, I want to marry you."

His voice trailed off as Barbara brushed her fingers over his lower lip, then lifted a hand to tug gently at the lock of hair on his forehead that refused to lay flat.

Strickler wrapped his claws around her fingers and brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

"This is you, Walt?"

"This is me."

"This is you, and you want me to marry you."

"I want you to marry me, Barbara."

Doctor Lake gazed up at him, pressing her palm to his cheek.

"Say that last part again?" She asked quietly.

"I want to marry you."

"Once more."

"Barbara Lake, I want to marry you."

"Walter, Take me now."

Stricklander let out a startled grunt as she threw her arms around him, knocking him onto his back.

"B-Barbara, are you sure--" He stammered around a mouthful of lips.

She pushed her tongue past his teeth, and his hands went stiff at his side.

Then they relaxed, and rose to rest on the small of her back.

After a few breathless seconds, they broke apart for air. Barbara smirked down at him, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Stricklander blinked up at her with a stunned, toothy grin.

"I think I swallowed your gum."

"Shut up." She fiddled with the clasp holding his cape in place, then tossed the garment aside. "I wanna wear you like a surgical mask."

"Doctor's orders!" Stricklander reached for her top, then he hesitated.

"Before we continue, there's another thing I need to tell you about my Trollish form. In this body, I'm tr---"

Stricklander grimaced as his mouth began to water.

"What I mean to say is I'm tr---"

A sour burp escaped him, and the changeling covered his mouth with a horrified expression.

"Oh Sweet Bodus, Get off, getoffgetoffgetoff---"

Stricklander dragged himself out from under her and tried to run deeper into the forest.

He made it three yards before doubling over.

" _Du gehst mir tierisch auf den Keks._ " Barbara scowled, wiping her mouth again as her flesh ran like candlewax. The doctors limbs warped, melting and merging into the familiar form of a middle aged german man.

Otto showed absolutely no sympathy as Stricklander fell to his knees; retching violently.

"I feel the same way, _mein freund_."

It took ten minutes to retrieve and destroy the Grit Shaka, and seven hours for Strickler to finally finish vomiting.

It was going on eight by the time he pulled his brand new, _refinanced_ Ashton Martin into the parking lot of Brighthouse Towers and Books. Strickler had to try three times before he found the right key to unlock the back door, and even then, every footstep took twice as much effort as it should.

Strickler had a throbbing stomachache, a bad taste in his mouth, and mere hours to prepare for Ceban's trial.

On top of that, he had the strangest feeling that he was forgetting something important.

  
There were half a dozen guards waiting for Strickler on the other side of the _Inlustris Callis_.

As they advanced on him, he vaguely remembered mouthing off to Gunmar and complimenting his pecs.

"Listen to me," Strickler backed away as the Gumm-Gumm's advanced, "I can explain! I wasn't in my right mind, I was poisoned."

He spoke calmly, but the instant he saw an opening, he threw himself toward the mirror.

Strickler made it half-way through before claws on his ankles dragged him back.

A rapid series of images flashed through his mind.

A tongue cut out by Decimaar. Wing bones snapped like twigs. Four dislocated limbs.

" **Gunmar jlurg summfah frug-phrorg**." growled one of the guards as he seized Strickler's arm.

It wasn't a Gumm-Gumm dialect he was familiar with, but Strickler still managed to translate.

'Gunmar wants you for dinner.'

If there were fewer guards, he might have been able to escape.

If he'd had something to eat other than garlic wine all day, he may have been able to escape.

If he wasn't so tired and sick, Strickler might have stood a chance.

But he didn't even have the energy to change back to his troll form as the guards dragged him toward the dining hall.

"Gunmar, please, reconsider." Strickler pleaded as the the Gumm-Gumm King came into view; seated at the head of the black stone table.

Three severed troll arms were on prominant display, their elbows filed down to form a flat surface so that they stood upraised.

A small blue flame glowed at the tip of each stony claw, fueled by bits of leather dipped in Goblin fat.

"Are those---" Strickler stared in disbelief as the guards set him down in a chair.

"Are those _candles_?"

Thirty-six dry aged wagyu ribeyes cooked bleu, paired with a bottle of Darklands-chilled Tokaji Essencia, all courtesy of the Janus Order.

"No, really," Strickler chuckled and held up one hand as Gunmar tried to place a fourth steak onto his plate, "I couldn't eat another bite."

The warlord gave a disapproving snort.

"The Grit Shaka demanded more strength than you can give, yet you haven't eaten enough to feed a mewling whelp." In spite of his admonishing, Gunmar seemed happy enough to devour the meat himself.

"Gunmar, I know that you aren't known for your mercy, but please, never, _ever_ mention the things I did under the Grit Shaka."

Gunmar snorted again, and Strickler thought he caught a trace of amusement in the sound.

The changeling smiled.

"You really should try this Tokaji. There's a reason they call it the wine of kings."

Strickler carried the bottle over to Gunmar. He very deliberately approached from the Warlord's right.

"It's a 2000 vintage. An interesting year, to say the least."

"There are no interesting years in the Darklands." Gunmar said with a sour grimace.

"Really. Not a single one?" Strickler crossed his arms, lifting his eyebrows in mock offence.

Gunmar grabbed the front of Strickler's jacket, and as Strickler was placed on the arm of Gunmar's chair, he resigned himself to being lifted this way from now on.

"You are... bold, to assume that you interest me."

The corner of Strickler's mouth quirked.

"At the very least, you must admit I keep you guessing."

Gunmar sniffed at the wine, then grimaced and waved it away.

"Pray that I don't grow tired your games, impure." Gunmar spat out the last word, but his disgust seemed almost good-natured. "Now, Stricklander, tell me more of this 'dessert' you mentioned."

"Y-yes, well, the thing about that is...ah...Give me a just a moment."

Strickler held up one finger, then put the bottle to his lips and chugged the rest of the wine.

Before he could say anything else, four cautious knocks echoed across the dining hall.

"Come in!" Strickler declared, all too eager for an interruption.

Dictatious entered alone. He gave the most half-hearted bow possible to Strickler before hurrying to Gunmar.

"Sire, the Janus Order brought what you requested."

Gunmar's crooked fangs split into a chilling smile.

"Come, Stricklander."

In spite of their earlier banter, Strickler shivered at Gunmar's tone.

"I have a gift for you."

The large burlap sack squirmed as Strickler approached it.

He paused, glancing back at Gunmar from across the throne room.

The Warlord smiled indulgently and gestured for him to proceed.

"You didn't have to go any trouble." Strickler stated, his voice cracking just a little.

He plastered a grin onto his face and carefully untied the drawcord.

The bag fell over, and Strickler stepped back as a confused teenager crawled out.

In an instant, he recognized the combed back hair with shaved sides, the drowsy brown eyes, the coffee-stained apron with a Mr. Benoit's nametag.

"Oh." Strickler's favorite waiter said in a small voice. He gazed up at the rune-scribed monster on a heartstone throne; taking in the jagged teeth, the empty socket cobwebbed with scar tissue. The lone, baleful blue eye.

"Oh." He said again, very quietly.

Strickler stepped in front of the teenager.

"Your Dark Excellence, Surely you don't---"

"Silence." Gunmar snarled.

Strickler silenced.

As fingers of heartstone energy writhed between Gunmar's horns, he straightened to his full storey height and approached the teenager.

"What is your name?" Gunmar demanded.

"Archuero, Sir."

Decimaar formed in Gunmar's hand, and he placed the glowing tip beneath Archuro's chin.

"You will serve, Archeuro."

A powerful shudder ran the length of the teenage's spine. As he bowed his head, ripples of blue chaos magic crept over him like fire.

Changing.

Lower incisors into tusks, fingers to talons. round pupils to eliptical.

Horns swept back and curled at the tips, a spine lengthened into a long, tuft-covered tail.

The younger changeling pushed himself to his feet. Trembling, but with his head held high.

"To my last breath, my King."

Gunmar seemed to accept that answer.

"Stricklander will be giving your orders from now on. To serve My Queen is to serve me."

Archuro's eyes widened just a fraction. He glanced toward Strickler, then back to Gunmar with sudden understanding.

"Gunmar," A muscle twitched in Strickler's jaw as he struggled to keep his composure, "Far be it for me to question your magnanimity , but _what is this_?"

His voice cracked a little on the last three words.

The Warlord rumbled, clearly amused.

"A sec-roo-tary."

"Wow, a Changeling Queen. Hey, Could I ask you something?"

Archeuro dropped six volumes of an 'Analysis of Troll' onto the desk before taking a seat next to Strickler.

"My arrangement with Gunmar is restricted information. You are not cleared to ask me about it. You aren't even cleared to be in the Darklands."

The older changeling pressed his palms to his eyes, clenching his teeth against a snarl.

"How did you even _get in here_?"

"Administrator Silver sent me through the _Inlustris Callis_ with a fifty-pound cooler full of steaks. Gunmar contacted the Janus Order. He wanted to know what a 'Tokaji' was."

Archuero plucked a magazine from one of the bookshelves and began to thumb through it. "Not gonna lie, when I received the order, I thought maybe they were feeding me to him."

Strickler picked up his pen, capping and uncapping it rhythmically.

"You thought they were feeding you to Gunmar; yet you still went through?"

Archeuro shrugged.

"Nine hour shifts working for tips make you second-guess your will to live."

Strickler pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Wonderful. Gunmar finally gives me something and it's a depressed changeling. Who are you? I haven't seen you in the Janus order before."

"Yes, you have. I'm the guy who does the lunch runs and makes sure everyone has coffee."

"No." Strickler folded his arms across his chest, "Even with the masks, I'd have recognized you.

Archeuro hummed to himself.

"Alright. Eight pm sharp during your meetings. Earl Gray, two lemon wedges. One spoonful of honey, and a teaspoon of orange juice. Except on Fridays, you splurge then with a decaf venti vanilla latte, two squirts of almond syrup, two squirts of irish cream, and a splash of soy milk. Extra foam. And for the record?"

Archeuro leaned forward and popped the cap back onto Strickler's pen; which had begun to leak.

"I wasn't going to ask you about Gunmar. Reverent Arcurio, or, Archeuro, at your service."

Strickler looked at the blue changeling and thought about Not-Enrique.

"Hm. You can't be worse than the last changeling I was forced to work with. What have you been told about your new position?"

"I didn't know I was interviewing for the job until a pair of Gumm-Gumm's stuffed me into a bag, so..."

"Alright." Strickler turned his attention to one of the books, "Grab that legal pad for me, won't you?"

Archuero did as he was told, passing him the notepad.

Strickler began jotting down a few notes.

"You're going to have to cut down on your hours at the Cafe. You will be salaried, on call both in human and trollish form."

Archuero winced a little but nodded.

"You'll need to brush up on your comprehensive Gumm-Gumm languages." Strickler continued, "The five tribes should suffice. "

"Five tribes?"

"The three Tribes unified by Orlagk, and the two tribes Gunmar brought with him when he joined. The Zunnn, Yarbloods, Wormbeards, Rust Trolls, and Nullhullers."

"Aren't the Nullhullers extinct?" Archuero asked.

"Yes, wiped out by invasive goblin species. Still, their language is the latin of Gumm-Gumm trollspeak, you'll want to memorize it. Oh, and Archuero?"

"Call me Arch."

"....Arch, then. If you weren't going to ask about Gunmar, what _did_ you want to know?"

Dictatious set two of his hands onto Gunmar's forearm. The touch was brief and cautious, but it spoke volumes as the Warlord lapsed into silence.

"We can leave it at that, Dark Underlord."

"No," Gunmar's tired breath rattled as he spoke, "If the tale is to be told, then I'll finish it. Where was I?"

"You had taken the daughter of the Ombre chieftess hostage, and you were about to slit her throat?"

"Right." Gunmar sighed, "I had the desert-troll by the mane, but holding her still was like trying to catch rain. I was so focused on her claws, that I didn't see her hind leg until she reared back and drove it right into my---"

Gunmar stopped in midsentence. He could see his mate approaching through the eyes of his guard, and quickly gestured for Dictatious to put his writings away.

Strickler paused in the entrance to the throneroom.

"Gunmar, you're still awake? I was just on my way out."

"Where were you going?" Gunmar demanded as Dictatious tucked his notebooks into his robe.

"To make arrangements for Ceban's estate. I have a few hours before the trial, six different defenses to argue, and I don't think any of them are going to save his life."

"Another failure, Stricklander?"

"Yes, Gunmar!" Strickler snapped, spinning on his heel to face him, "Another failure! Just like Killahead Bridge, just like Angor Rot, just like Bu---"

The changeling bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood, just barely surpressing the last word.

"I don't have time to argue this with you." He started toward the mirror, but paused when the Gunmar's growl echoed through the room.

"The Impure was disobedient. He will reap what he has sown."

Gunmar smiled a slow, cruel grin.

"During Orlagk's rule, a defiant changeling would be forced to hold a Dwarkstone between his teeth. If he could keep it steady through a day and night of beating, then he may be allowed a chance to change his behavior."

"Dwarkstone." Strickler repeated.

Disgusted, he turned to the _Inlustris Callis._

Halfway through, he stopped, one hand on the mirror's frame.

Then, Strickler stepped out and slowly turned back to face Gunmar.

"Dwarkstone." He said again, eyes widening. "Dwarkstones! That's it!"

"That's what?" Dictatious repeated in bewilderment.

But Strickler had already run back toward the library.

"Archuero!!!"

The blue changeling snorted loudly, head jolting up.

"Iwuzzantsleepin!"

The lawbook he'd been using as a pillow slipped off the table.

"Contact the Janus Order." Strickler commanded. He tore a sheet out of his legal pad and scribbled something down. "Tell them to gather fifty bags of potting soil, fifty bags of fertilizer, and as many changelings with garden troll heritage as they can spare. Take them to this address and make sure they follow the instructions I've written down to the letter."

He stuffed the paper into Archuero's hand, then shoved him out of the library.

"Pudd, Strewth, Grike!" Strickler snapped his fingers twice and the three Gumm-Gumms guarding the libary went to his side.

"You two, make sure Archuero makes it safely through the _Inlustris Callis_. And you,"

Here, he pointed to Pudd,

"Inform Dictatious that I respecfully request he review my legal writing, I'll give it to him in half an hour."

"Uuuuhng...?" The Gumm-Gumm pointed to herself, then to her tongueless mouth.

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Strickler opened his travel bag and pulled out a small dry erase board he used to write down memos.

Briefly, he demonstrated how the marker worked, then shoved both into Pudd's hands.

She stared down at the whiteboard for a long moment before hugging it.

"Let's be be quick about it!" Strickler clapped his hands once, "We have a flawed legal system to disrupt!"

With that, the Gumm-Gumms and changeling quickly dispersed to do their Queen's bidding.

"....This might just be underhanded enough to work." Dictatious peered down at the legal notepad, using his pen to correct the spelling of one or two words.

Gunmar reached over and took it from him, examining the writing.

"You are not nearly as clever as you think, Stricklander." Gunmar stated, turning the paper over.

"Well obviously, I married you." the changeling retorted.

Stricklander set aside most of his earrings, leaving the threader and bajoran in one ear, and a few small silver hoops in the other.

A reflective sheet of Pyrite propped on a few stacked skulls wasn't much of a vanity, but it was enough for him to preen a bit.

"So you're facing down the tribunal in two hours." Dictatious stated, "And the last time you slept was...?"

"Incidental." Stricklander scooped a little pomade out of the can, smoothing down his black-grey locks. He took one look at the bags beneath his eyes and decided to give his horns a polish as well.

"All this, for one impure?" Gunmar rumbled.

"You know, Archeuro asked me the same thing. 'You're risking your reputation and more for the sake of a single, individual changeling.' It seems like insanity, doesn't it?"

Stricklander adjusted the Janus Order clasp holding his cape in place. In a ripple of green magic, the brown leather was replaced with the rich black sable of his Tribunal uniform.

"Almost as insane as fighting centuries for the freedom of one single troll."

Gunmar said nothing as Stricklander slipped through the mirror.

But once they were alone, he growled to himself, looking pleased.

Dictatious glanced up at him.

"Dark Underlord?"

"Mm?"

"Dwarkstones weren't available in the new world until four years after Orlagk's death. He never used them to punish changelings."

"Hm."

Gunmar rumbled quietly.

Then he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twisted Mashup drew some wonderfully wry fanart of Strickler and Archeuro meeting, which you can check out right here!  
> https://daylightisminetoconsume.tumblr.com/post/188643198216/the-gestures-are-absolutely-perfect-the-strokes


	14. The Code of Changelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ceban's fate is sealed.

  
A heavy hand fell onto Stricklander's shoulder on his way to the Stronghold. The changeling turned, claws at the ready to reach beneath his feather cowl for a handful of blades.

"Didn' mean nothin' by it." 

Krax recoiled, scratching the back of his neck with a basketball-sized paw.

"Me and the other's been talking, Boss. Ellie's still out, but Gladys says she'll talk to the tribunal. She ain't got much, but if you need a witness to vouch for Ceb, well, you got us."

"Commendable." Stricklander turned away, "That would have been substantially more useful a week ago, during the first trial."

"You wasn't here, then!" Krax protested, slowing his stride to match Stricklander's, "The Janus Order left Ceb in the lurch, we thought the same would happen to us if we spoke up. Sides, it ain't like we abandoned him. We've just been helpin' in other ways."

"Really."

"Yeah, really." Krax growled a bit. "I been pullin' double-guard duty for weeks, so no one messes with Ceb. Gladysgro's made sure the nipper gets baths and clean clothes. It ain't easy for them, y'know. I lived down here my whole life. Ceban, Gladys, Kovi. They're still learnin' to be trolls."

"We've all had to make sacrifices." Stricklander came to a stop when he saw that the stronghold was unguarded. 

Worry tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he quickly stepped into the prison.

Behind him, he heard Krax turning to leave, but the larger changeling paused long enough to mutter;

"Giving up your familiar ain't the same as crumpets with the King."

Two Krubera guards emerged from the stronghold, pushing Ceban's cage on metal wheels.

"Stop." Stricklander placed himself in front of them, "There's still half an hour before the trial starts. I have a right to consult my kinstroll!"

One of the Krubera growled in response.

A few years ago, this might have intimidated Stricklander, but now he snarled back; loudly enough that one of the guards was startled into lifting his spears.

But courage didn't change that Stricklander was still an impure, and only half their size. So, the Krubera continued pushing Ceb toward the Hero's forge.

"Ceban!" Stricklander rushed after the cage. He reached for the other changeling.

Ceban hesitated for only a second, then thrust his arm through the bars.

White-freckled fingers locked with green talons.

Stricklander met the other changelings eyes. It was clear he wanted to say something, but before he could, one of Krubera guards knocked him away. 

Stricklander stumbled, then righted himself.

"Ceban! Rule Number One!" 

Ceban pulled his hand back, fingers closed into a tight fist.

"Rule Number Two." He answered quietly as his cage disappeared through the doorway.

Alone now, Stricklander straightened his cape, his lips set in a firm line.

_"It doesn't have to be."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"---And taking into account your testimony today, would you say you're biased against changelings, Dollface?"

NotEnrique paused, lifting a hind leg to scratch behind his ear. 

"I'm not against _all_ changelings." Bagdwella huffed, setting her hands on her hips, "Just the ones who eat my leftovers. I clearly wrote my name on them!"

From somewhere in the stadium, Eloise Stemhower shouted back.

"I bought the groceries, just because you write on it doesn't mean it's yours Bagdwella!" 

"You are the worst roommate I've ever had!"

"Yeah? Well, that's MY TOP you're wearing!"

"Uh, no further questions for this witness." NotEnrique winced, glancing toward the Tribunal.

Vendel leaned on his staff, shaking his head slowly. 

"The Tribunal has no questions for this witness." he announced.

NotEnrique looked up at Stricklander.

The leader of the Janus Order groaned very quietly and rubbed his eyes in clear exasperation. 

Only Not Enrique saw him tap his pinkie to his cheek twice, sending a message.

'Proceed as planned.'

NotEnrique grinned.

"Defense would like ta call Blinkous Galadrigal to the stand!"

From the sidelines, Jim, Claire, Toby and Aaarrrgghh all turned to look at Blinky in surprise.

"Well, so much for forewarned being forearmed." the historian grumbled to himself as he approached the Tribunal.

"The Tribunal recognizes, with great reluctance," Vendel sighed deeply, "Blinkous Galadrigal." 

"So!" NotEnrique declared as Blinky took the stand, "You remember last year, when we had that outbeak of Gruesomes?"

"An infestation in the Graveyard of Glory, yes." Blinky folded his hands and nodded, "Our valorous Trollhunter dealt with them in short order."

"Right." NotEnrique climbed onto a podium provided purely so he had something to climb on. "I been on the wrong end of that sword. He's gettin' pretty good with it, ain't he?"

"Well, Master Jim's certainly improved over the years. Largely thank to his dedication and diligent training. He's come a very long way since he first set foot in Trollmarket. I won't hesitate to state, under oath, that I couldn't be more proud of him."

Blinky smiled with all six of his eyes. On the sidelines, Jim looked a little sheepish as Claire took his hand and Toby flashed him a double thumbs up.

"So, are you sayin' he sliced those Gruesomes into bangers? Or was it more like string cheese?" 

NotEnrique punched his palm for emphasis.

"Neither, actually. Gruesomes cannot be destroyed by conventional means. In this instance, we utilized a volley of Dwarkstone Grenades."

"Alright, now Let's say you pinched em."

NotEnrique stopped when Stricklander coughed.

"Er, no further questions for this witness."

Blinky looked a little bemused, but he shrugged it off.

"Well then!" he rubbed his hands together, "If that will be all, I really should----"

His words ended in a shrill yelp as a volley of stones rained down on him. 

Stricklander smirked at the Tribunal's clumsy throws. He turned a rock over in his fingers. Then, with an assassin's precision, he tossed it like a skipping stone. 

It made a loud, satisfying 'thwunk' between the historian's horns. 

"Ow! Scum of the earth!" Blinky swore under his breath, rubbing at the knot forming on his head.

"Stricklander's rock wins." Bork wasn't the most outspoken of the Tribunal, but she did have enough of a sense of fair play to speak up.

Usurna's voice was perfectly even.

"Very well, Stricklander will be heard first." 

"Thank you, Usurna." Stricklander gave her his most gracious smile before turning his attention to the witness.

"These Dwarkstone grenades, are they the only way of getting rid of a Gruesome?"

"There are various techniques such as salt and other dehydrating powders, but Dwarkstones are the quickest, most effective method of extermination."

"For the record, Blinkous, could you explain how they work?" 

Blinky sat up just a bit. 

"It's actually quite simple! You see, once the stone is agitated---"

Stricklander nodded along as Blinky went on to explain a very _unsimple_ chemical reaction. 

When he was finished, the changeling spoke.

"So these Dwarkstones are incendiary devices. That sounds...incredibly dangerous. Did you really think it wise to use such a thing so close to Trollmarket?" 

Stricklander tugged absently at his feathered collar.

"How could you even be certain they'd work? Surely you obtained them from some black-market alchemist, or a weapons dealer. Assuming you paid for them, of course."

"Objection!" Toby shouted, "Lay off, Mr. S! Blinky didn't steal anything! I had to trade like a hundred tube socks for---HEY!"

A hail of rocks forced him to take shelter behind Aaarrrgghh.

"Your objection is overruled!" Usurna snapped, "On the grounds there are no objections in Troll Law!"

"I resent that implication!" Blinky shouted, pointing with two fingers, "I'll have you know I obtained the Dwarkstones through a legitimate vendor! RotGut's Apothecary has been a staple of Trollmarket for as long as there has been a Trollmarket!"

"So, it is your testimony that this dangerous weapon can be bought by anyone who trades with an Apothecary." Stricklander concluded.

Usurna's crystals rattled as she sighed.

"Is there a question you'd like to ask, Stricklander?"

"There certainly is!" Stricklander brought his palms down on the bench and leaned forward, looming over Blinky.

"Blinkous, if someone were to steal a Dwarkstone from RotGut's, and the thief was harmed in the process, who would you hold responsible? The Apothecary, or the individual?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Usurna demanded, the slightest hint of a shrill to her tone.

"I withdraw the question." Stricklander smiled and settled back. "Nothing further for this witness."

"Onto the next one, then." Not Enrique announced. 

As Blinkious returned to his friends the young changeling glanced toward Stricklander. Just once, for reassurance. Then, NotEnrqiue cleared his throat and announced,

"I call Kjell to the stand!"

It immediately became clear to Stricklander why everyone had such a hard time believing that Kovi was being bullied.

Kjell clearly had a good deal of Yarblood Troll somewhere in his family tree. These small trolls were usually found working in pubs.  
Their taciturn nature and three-pointed horns made them uniquely suited to bustling tables and carrying trays.

Kjell himself was barely half Kovi's size.

The whelp didn't have much to say,and he became even less talkative as Not Enrique paced accusingly in front of him.

"Ain't it true you've gottin' in fights before?"

"Ain't it true you've had it out for Kovi since she got here?"

"Why ain't ya speaking up? Seems dodgy to me. Just fess' up that you're a liar! " 

Kjell whimpered and sank lower in the witness chair. In the onlooker stands; An angry troll mother rose; a bristling adult Yarblood perched on her shoulder. 

"Is this really necessary?" Gatto rumbled, "The whelp's barely old enough to be out of his nest!"

"I agree with Gatto." Vendel stated, "Where is this going, counsel?"

"Your Honorships, my client's accuser is clearly an unreliable witness! He can't even say for sure what happened!" NotEnrique pointed to Kjell, "I move to strike his testimony in its entirety and demand the charges against Ceb be dismissed!"

"Overruled." said the tribunal in unison. 

"Well, that's fine then!" NotEnrique huffed, hopping off the podium.

Kjell was shivering like he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and hide under a rock. 

"Does anyone object to letting this youngling return to his parents?" Usurna asked.

"No, by all means." Vendel gestured for one of the guards to help Kjell off the witness stand.

"Actually," Stricklander interjected, "I have a few questions for this witness." 

The rest of the Tribunal looked at him in dismay.

"If you absolutely must." Vendel waved his staff toward the youngling, "Throw your stone, Stricklander."

The changeling nodded and rose from his seat.

But instead of throwing a rock, he pushed his cape back from his shoulders and began steadily descending the staircase beside the Tribunal Bench.

An outcry immediately rose from the Troll Tribunal.

"This is a flagrant disregard for tradition!"

"I don't like it any more than you, but there are no laws against it."

Kjell flinched as Stricklander aprroached him, recoiling when the changelings hand disappeared into his sable cloak.

a moment later, the hand emerged holding a beautifully polished pink Mangano crystal.

Stricklander smiled and gave the stone a gentle, underhanded toss toward Kjell.

The tiny Yarblood troll caught it effortlessly.

"I thought it'd be easier if you and I talk like this, would that be alright with you?"

The yarblood was captivated by the pink rock, and it took him a few moments to nod.

"Kjell, do you know what I am?" Stricklander asked. 

He used the tone of voice that he saved for changelings on the brink of desertion, or students who broke down crying in class. Dulcet, steady, firm; building his words into a warm, safe place.

A voice to confide in.

Kjell was clearly caught off-guard. He lowered his eyes, rolling the pink stone between his palms.

"Mm-hm." more of a nervous hum than an answer.

"Can you speak up a bit?" Stricklander put a hand to his ear, "Use whatever word you know. You won't get in trouble."

"Impoor."

Kjell's voice was a nasal chitter; raspy in the way of all children just learning to speak.

"That is a word some Trolls like to use. But do you know what we call ourselves?"

Kjell shook his head.

"Changelings. Because we change from one thing to the next."

"Changin." Kjell repeated, perking up a bit.

"Yes, very good! Tell me, have you seen a lot of changelings around lately?"

"Mm-hm."

"Have there always been changelings in Trollmarket?"

Kjell looked up at Stricklander briefly, then returned his attention to the rock.

"Uh-uhn."

"No? Are they new?"

"Mm-hm."

"Ah." Stricklander nodded in understanding. "New things can be a bit scary, can't they? You know, just between you and me, when I'm afraid, I try to make myself look bigger."

For emphasis, he held his skinny arms out at his side, like an owl flaring its wings.

"What is the point of this?" Usurna asked in disgust.

"She's very loud, isn't she?" Stricklander smiled at Kjell, giving the youngling a wink.

The whelp giggled and nodded eagerly in agreement.

"So, Kjell, what do _you_ do when you're scared?"

"When ah scare..." Kjell frowned, momentarily losing his train of thought.

"When you're scared?"

"I hiddiminnanose."

NotEnrique snorted with laughter a few feet away. 

"You hit them on the nose?" Stricklander repeated, lifting his eyebrows in alarm.

"Mm-hm."

"Well, that's certainly a very Trollish way to handle things. When you met Kovi, was she new and scary?"

"Mm-hm."

Until now, Ceban's focus had been on Kjell; more sympathetic than angry.

At this, however, he turned to face Kjell's parents with a contemptuous glare. Still as a statue, aside from his twitching ears and lashing tail.

"Kjell," Stricklander asked quietly, "did you hit Kovi in the nose?"

Kjell was silent for a while.

Then, from his tiny form came a very quiet, "Mm-hm."

"I understand." Stricklander stood up straight. "You're scared, and then you're angry that someone scared you. You think if you hurt them first, maybe they'll be too afraid to hurt you. But Kovi never hurt you, did she?" Kjell glanced away guiltily. "In fact, not only was she harmless, but she was willing to share. Kovi was strange and new, and she brought a lot of strange, new things with her to school. Thing's you'd never seen before."

Once more, he reached into his cape and pulled something out.

Kjell's eyes locked onto the round, red object. He stood in his seat, nose twitching with interest. 

Stricklander lifted the item into the air so that the Tribunal and onlookers could see.

Then, he lowered the tomato and took a large bite. Kjell leaned forward, reaching for the vegetable and showing the starburst scar on the back of his paw.

In a quick move, he snatched it out of Stricklander's hand, tucking in with a possessive growl. 

Stricklander turned to Tribunal and smiled.

"No further questions!"

NotEnrique looked very smug as the Tribunal passed the cellphone around.

"I like to call these photos exhibits A, B, and C, you're honorships!" 

Usurna was last, frowning deeply as she swiped through photos of a warehouse stocked with grow lights and planters. In one picture, a Garden troll changeling tended to a mulberry sapling. In another, a different changeling was pruning a pumpkin vine.

"My Client," Not Enrique announced, pointing to Ceban, "Is guilty'a nothin' more than trying to give back to Trollmarket! The UV Light in his home was phase one of a much larger project! With help from the Janus Order; Ceb planned on making an honest livin' with a fresh veg stand! His plan wasn't just to feed his daughter, but ALL his troll neighbors!"

NotEnrique snapped his fingers very dramatically, and on cue, six masked Janus Order Agents entered the room in two single file lines.

Each one carried an overflowing basket in their arms. Apples, persimmons, squash, and more. 

NotEnrique climbed the nearest agent, grabbing an onion and eating it in one bite.

"Go on! It ain't poisoned!" he said with his mouth full.

The changelings carried the baskets to the stands, but the gathered trolls met them with wary murmurs.

"Ahem."

Blinky crossed the room, approaching the changelings with a warm expression. 

"If I may."

The agent offered him the basket, and the fingers on his fourth hand wiggled in anticipation, before he he selected a juicy looking rutabaga.

The Tribunal watched closely as Blinky bit into the vegetable with a loud crunch.

The historian chewed thoroughly for a moment, considering.

"Well, it's certainly better than tacos!"

In unison, the Trollhunters came forward to offer their support. Jim grabbed a green apple and Claire chose a yellow. Toby tossed an acorn squash to Aaarrrgghh, and the larger troll snapped it from the air as easily as a teenager catching popcorn.

Stricklander hadn't told them about this plan, but he felt a warm swell of appreciation as Jim lifted his apple in a silent toast before taking a big bite.

At the sight of the Trollhunter eating, some of the trolls began picking things from the baskets.

Before long, the sounds of crunching and happy rumbles rose above the suspicious murmurs.

"Now, Kovi and Ceb just wanna fit in." NotEnrique declared, "That bein' said, my client's willin' to ignore Kjell's sticky fingers. Whelps bein' whelps and all that. As a matter a fact, he wants to offer Kjell's family a year's worth of first-fruits as a token' of good will. And after that, he'll give em' a fifteen perfcent---"

"Five." Ceban cut in.

"---A five percent discount at his stand!"

Aaarrgghh helped Kjell off the stand, and the whelp immediately tugged at one of the agent's pantlegs, standing on his tiptoes to try to reach the baskets.

Kjell's mother rose to her feet.

"I guess that's fine." 

A very small spattering of applause broke out from the gathered trolls.

Vendel glanced at Stricklander.

"Am I to presume you had nothing to do with this, Ambassador?"

"I was certainly aware of Ceb's grow operation, but I only suspected what might have happened. As Gunmar's spokesman, I didn't think it was my place to interfere."

"I see. So you didn't help Ceban's Defense Counsel?"

Stricklander lifted his hands and shrugged.

"Vendel, I couldn't control that little imp when I had permission to kill him. What makes you think he'd listen to a thing I have to say now?"

NotEnrique smirked a little.

"That's good enough for me." Vendel stated, "Is the Tribunal ready to render it's verdict?"

"Wait just a moment." Gatto's growl was almost loud enough to reflect his true size, "How can the impure call upon Apothecary's Privilege if he has no apothecary?"

"Gatto's right." Bork added. "Does Ceban have an Apothecary permit approved by a member of the Tribunal?"

Vendel turned his cataract eyes toward the caged Changeling.

"Ceban, do you have a permit?"

"What?" Ceban asked, "You mean this?"

With a flourish, he presented the paper Stricklander had slipped him when their hands locked.

One of the guard's took the paper and presented it to the tribunal, starting with Bork. One by one, each of the trolls examined the permit, and Stricklander's elaborate signature at the bottom.

"Well." Vendel almost sounded impressed, "Taking this new evidence into consideration, I think it's safe to say that Ceban Smith is---"

"Guilty." Usurna stood, bringing her staff down with a loud crack.

"How so?" Bork asked.

Usurna passed the permit back to Vendel.

"Ceban's Apothecary was unauthorized, and therefore, he had no right to possess artificial sunlight. An Apothecary Permit requires the signature of a member of the Tribunal. Stricklander is merely a _spokesperson_ for a member of of the Tribunal, and as such," Usurna smiled thinly, "His signature is **worthless**."

"Oh, enough with this!" The Wumpa Queen exclaimed. She'd been quiet for the duration of the trial, but clearly had reached her last shred of patience. "You bark at the changeling, he bark at you; I sign and we can all go home!"

"Thank you, You're highness." Stricklander said quickly. He reached into the lining of his cape for a pen.

Then he checked his loincloth.

His face fell as he turned his pockets inside out.

"I'm sure I have..." He turned, eliciting a few gasps as he changed to human form.

With growing dread, He stuffed his hands into his leather jacket. 

"Ah, here it is!" Triumphantly, his fingers closed on the penshaped object and drew out---

A switchblade comb.

Below, he could see the Trollhunters emptying their pockets. Jim searched his hoody, Claire riflign through her purse. Toby upended his backpack, producing nothing but books and snack wrappers. 

"If we could just take a brief recess," Strickler turned to Vendel with a pleading look.

But the elder troll's patience had run out as well. He said nothing, merely shook his head sadly.

"No signature, no permit!" Usurna declared, crumpling the paper. "With that being said, the Tribunal has no choice but to sentence Ceban Smith to---"

"Excuse me!" Ceban reached through the bars of his cage, holding his finger up, "There is a signature! It's on the back!"

"Really, What sort of troll would sign the _back_ of a permit?" Usurna quipped, "The changeling is clearly trying to buy himself time."

Strickler snatched the ball of paper from her, smoothing it carefully over his knee.

With nervous hands, he turned it over.

The Tribunal gathered around to examine the permit. His shock fading, Strickler smiled down at the familiar signature, though he hadn't seen it since the signing of the Triad Pact.

"Well, that settles that, then."


	15. Jim Lake Jr is in way over his head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When James Lake Junior is haunted by memories of past battles, Strickler must to come to terms with their new relationship. Part One of the Halloween Special.

"Are you sure you won't join us? The others are willing to pay for your glug as long as you want to drink."

Ceb came to a stop outside the trollpub; shaking his head with a smile.

"No, Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I don't really drink." He glanced anxiously around at the crowd of trolls, as if searching for someone specific.

"I understand. I'm sure you'd prefer to see you daughter, rather than...Well, It's as the Gumm-Gumms say, Family in Feast, Cannibals in Famine." In passing, Strickler wondered to himself if the other changeling's would've helped Ceban had the Trial not gone in their favor.

The very tips of two pointed purple ears appeared above the crowd and the trolls parted to make way for a tired-looking Nomura. Perched happily on her hip was a very chattyKovi, her hands occupied with braiding the ends of Nomura's hair.

"Did you ever fight a goblin?" 

"Yes." "

Do they bite?"

"Yes." 

"Was it reeeal bad or just a little bad?" 

"I don't know." 

"Can you PET a goblin?" 

"No."

Ceb had been in the middle of chuckling at something Strickler said.

"Why do you think I chose to..."

His voice trailed off at the sight of them. For an instant, Ceb stared transfixed by Kovi's happiness, watching her kick her little feet absentmindedly. 

"Oh, Walter! Hi, Walter!" Kovi lifted her hand to wave and froze.

"Papa."

Nomura smiled and knelt, setting Kovi on the ground.

"PAPA!"

The halfling ran forward with an earsplitting howl of joy. 

Ceb walked towards his daughter at first, but his stride quickly turned to jogging, then a full on sprint. When he finally reached his precious whelp, the river troll changeling scooped Kovi into his arms, crushing her to his chest.

"Kovi! Kovi!!!" He half-laughed, half-sobbed as he cuddled his youngling.

Puppy-like, Kovi squirmed and whimpered, letting out tiny whines as she knocked her head against his chest and chin and cheek, clinging to her father like she'd never let him go.

Ceb sniffled, burying his face in her hair before peppering face with kisses. 

"I missed you so much, Kovi!"

"No more missions!"

"Right, no more missions, I promise."

Changelings as a rule of thumb weren't much for parenting, at least not in Strickler's experience. Yet the bond between Ceb and Kovi was just as strong as any he'd ever seen from a human family.

He forced a smile past the niggling feeling that he was intruding.

"I've arranged for increased security around your home. Just until you've established yourself as a shopkeeper. Nothing drastic, a few protection totems..." He very much wanted to be away from this. "I do hope this has done something to restore your faith in the Janus Order."

"Thank you, Strickler." The freckled changeling finally looked up from his cub with a bright smile.

"I'm not sure about the Janus Order, but my faith in _you_ , and what you said you stand for, that's there. And the Trollhunters, the ones who stood by me through all this...."

There were no words, so Ceban just shook his head and set Kovi down. 

"If you ever need your plumbing looked at, or a heater fixed. Any home repairs, you call me first. I promise, you won't regret it. Same goes for Nomura."

Suddenly, Ceban's green eyes hardened, and his smile began to show fangs.

"Otto, too. If he ever needs anything fixed, _I'll take care of him_."

Strickler's eyebrows rose at the tone, but he smirked at Ceban's resourcefulness.

"I'll be sure to give him the message."

Ceban took Kovi's hand, examining Strickler's face for a moment.

"I mean it. If you need anything, even just to talk, you can call me. Actually, I have something I'd like to give you."

"HEY CEB!" 

Strickler breathed a sigh of relief as the Trollhunters appeared bearing gifts. Claire's warm brown eyes sparkled as she presented Ceb with a brand new pair of gardening gloves. Toby ran forward, swinging a paper bag,

"Whose up for Victory tacos?"

"TROLLHUNTER!" Kovi shouted, flinging herself at Jim. 

"Kovi cake!" Jim shouted back, laughing and hoisting her onto his hips. Strickler noticed that he winced, as if picking up the troll whelp hurt him. 

"Trollhunters, what you've done for me, for my daughter, I can't possibly thank you enough!" Running a hand through his fluffy brown hair, Ceb paused as he thought of something.

"Actually, I think I might know a good place to start. You kids don't happen to like homemade desserts, do you?"

All three let out enthusiastic sounds of agreement, and Strickler smiled to himself. He took that as his chance to slip away unnoticed.

"Blinky's looking for you." Nomura said, walking beside him. "Something about buying you a drink?"

"And that is my que to leave. I'm going to go back to my human house, take a hot shower, and sleep for a solid eight hours in my very human bed. How was Kovi?"

"Only fractionally better than my time in the Darklands." Nomura rolled her eyes, "Reminds me why I sent Draal away for the month."

"Mm. I know how hard this time of the century is on you. When is our intrepid guardian due back?" 

"Oh, Draal's been back for a few days now." Nomura tugged the braids out of her hair.

"Draal's back and you didn't report it to me?"

"We've been busy."

Strickler thought about the boorish warrior-troll and gagged a little. 

"Well, when you're finished, send him back to the Lake house. He still has an oath to uphold. I'm glad to hear the couple's counseling is working for you." 

Nomura's smile faded with her troll form.

The long-limbed purple troll was replaced with a round-faced east asian woman. She brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes as she lowered her voice.

"The Trollhunter's asking questions. You need to talk to him."

"What sort of questions?"

"He asked me about Gunmar beating you."

Strickler's spine went ramrod straight. He glanced around to be sure no one was listening, then dragged Nomura into the nearest alleyway.

"Keep your voice down!" Strickler hissed, "This isn't a conversation for Trollmarket!"

  
then, in a direct contradiction to what he just said,

"What do you mean he's asking about Gunmar? Gunmar is a troll. Troll's hit things! _How_ is this _news_ to him?" 

"He's worried about you."

Strickler clenched his teeth at her tone.

"Explain to him that Bular did the exact same thing. Tell him that Gumm-Gumms have always used a heavy hand to express disapproval, but that we've been trained to handle it. Make sure he knows that _I_ am in control, not Gunmar."

"Make sure he THINKS you're in control." Nomura corrected. 

They stood in silence for a heavy moment.

"Strickler, You don't have to go back to him. We have the eclipse blade."

"And he has the familiars! I know it defies belief that I could ever consider the welfare of others, but I didn't make this choice for Jim. I did it for all changelings!"

"You're punishing yourself." 

"I'm _what_?" 

Strickler let out a snort at that. 

"Ever since Angor Rot, you've been pretending to be the person that Barbara think's you are."

Nomura crossed her arms.

"You've finally found someone interested in the real you, so what's the first thing you do? Throw yourself straight into a brand new role. You hate what Gunmar made you do, but it's working for you. You get to keep the Trollhunter at arm's length, and pretending your doing this for him help's you not to feel guilty about his mother. Strickler, I don't care that you've given up on being the villian," 

she shook her head. 

"But we both know the Martyr isn't your look either." 

Strickler took a deep breath, pressing his hands together.

"Nomura, if it seems like I have the slightest interest in what you have to say about my life, please, let me know. I wouldn't want to give you the wrong impression. Now if you'll excuse me, I have about twelve hours of sleep to catch up on." 

He brushed past her as he started toward the barrier of Trollmarket; his relaxed eyes and thin scowl the very image of cynical unconcern. 

But Nomura knew him better than that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the first time in weeks, Walter Strickler collapsed into his own bed. 

He wiggled ever so slightly as he pressed his face into the scent of clean sheets and rosewood fabric softener.

With a contented sigh, Strickler pulled his favorite bodypillow into a hug. He knew he'd regret sleeping in his clothes, but the thought of leaving the bed seemed worse than a dry cleaning bill. He shut his eyes; but in spite of his mental exhaustion, his body seemed determined to stay awake.

Strickler pushed himself up with a grunt of agitation. He was weighing the pros and cons of a sleeping pill when a stack of mail on his bedside table caught his eye.

There was a note attached to it.

**Strickler,**

  
**I took the liberty of stocking the fridge and brought you the mail. Earl Grey's in the cupboard. Left my number on the fridge. Your welcome. — Arch**

**P.S. The JO gave me a key to your house.**

**P.P.S. I drafted a memo for you to send out about increasing security measues so that low-ranking changelings aren't given keys to senior officers houses.**

"Hm." Strickler set the note aside, sifting through the rest of the envelopes. Most of them were reassurances that his automatic utility payments had gone through. A few were credit card offers. 

But a buttercup-yellow takeout menu drew his attention. He flipped it open with a curious sound.

It took less than ten minutes of browsing to convince Strickler that some good, hot human food was exactly what he needed.

Who knew Mr. Benoit's delivered?

"Right, so just to confirm, that's one relish tray, a bacon and brie croissant, and one---"

Strickler considered for a moment, then switched the phone to his other ear.

"On second thought, make it _two_ orders of duck confit. Right, yes, the security code on the back of the card is 343. Forty minutes? That's fine. I'm sure I can occupy myself for forty minutes." Strickler gave his clothes a sniff, grimacing at the realization that he still smelled like a Gumm-Gumm. He knew exactly what he was going to do while he waited for his meal.

The bottle said to add one capful to the bathwater, but since Strickler was treating himself, he added two.

As the bathroom filled with lilac-scented steam, he shucked out of his pants and peeled off his turtleneck.

While his troll form had remained relatively unscathed through the ages, a tapestry of scars told the story of his many near-death experiences as a human. 

His flat abdominals bore a tiger-pelt of hypertrophics; from when a confederate soldier bayonetted him in the stomach. A series of starburst bullet wounds decorated his back. He'd been shot four times while serving in Kitchener's Army. And twice in the chest by a changeling who wanted his position. 

There were others, more mundane. A few cuts on his throat, from Bular pressing a sword to it. A handful of claw marks on his hips and legs.

And the oldest among them, a diagonal contracture scar across his lower back, Given to Strickler by none other than Quintus Petillius Cerialis.

The Roman General had placed a heated iron poker to his skin, after the teenaged changeling had dared to protest against the soldiers killing a pig. His familiar's family had planned on eating it over the winter.

  
Strickler groaned happily as he sank into the bathtub, letting the water rise until it reached his shoulders. There was an ugly, purple-green bruise across his ribs, but it would heal.

So far, Gunmar had yet to leave a lasting mark.

Thoughts of trolls and battles past soon faded away beneath the soothing heat of a well-deserved soak. He was on the brink of a doze when his cellphone went off.

_**♪Kiss it kiss it better baby, I been waiting up all night, baby tell me what's wrong~♪** _

He answered an instant, recognizing the ringtone.

"Barbara! I was just thinking of calling you."

Strickler sighed a bit, leaning back in the tub.

"I don't even know how to begin the apology I owe you."

Her warm chuckle on the other end of the line did more to soothe him than the bath.

"It's alright, Walt. Jim told me what happened."

Strickler sat up, splashing a few suds over the side.

"H-he did?"

"Honestly, I don't think it's funny. If someone has a caffine intolerance, you can't switch out their regular roast for espresso, spiking it with energy pills on top of that? It's not a joke, it's food tampering. I hope they find the student that did it." 

Strickler held the phone away, gathering his thoughts for a moment.

"Yes, well I'm sure they didn't mean any real harm by it. Just a halloween prank." He finally managed to answer.

"Well that _prank_ could've really hurt you."

Her grumbled concern for him made Strickler smiled.

"Speaking of hurt, I hope my behavior didn't frighten you too much. I'm still kicking myself for the things I said to you."

"I've gotta admit, 'Dip in the Lake' isn't one I've heard before."

Strickler sank even lower into the bath.

"So," Barbara continued, "What are you up to?"

"Oh, something red-blooded and masculine. I'm certainly not taking a bubble bath with lilac and lavender."

She laughed on the other end of the line.

"Walter, you aren't going to believe this."

"Don't tell me."

"With scented candles and Epsom salts."

"You know, I'm reminded of a quote. Something about great minds?"

"I was just thinking the same thing. It feel's good to talk to you like this. So! Other than getting attacked by an emu and having your coffee spiked, how has your week been?"

Strickler smiled to himself and settled back.

"Where should I start?"

The bathwater was cold after an hour, but Strickler was too busy laughing to notice.

"Wait, You're telling me, he came out of the bathroom---"

"Wanda swears it happened! The patient came out of the bathroom, handed her the sample container, and said, "There was a toilet in there, so I didn't need this!"

Strickler clamped a hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to smother his snorts.

"Okay, but seriously, Walt. The Haunt, The Science Fair, AND the halloween dance? Please tell me you didn't volunteer last minute."

"Not to worry, I've got the matter well in hand. Just between you and me, if I don't survive the experience, I want you to have my new car."

"You got a new car?"

Briefly, Strickler reminded himself that Otto had swapped for Barbara while she was in the restroom.

"A black Aston Martin. Oh, excuse me, not black, but 'Marton Black Pearl.' It's got a sunroof, seat warmers, and fifty payments left to make on it. Caffine is one hell of drug, Barbara."

"It sounds nice. You'll have to take me for a drive sometime. Maybe on Tuesday? I've got a short shift, then."

"Oh? And where would you like to go?"

"If this sounds too corny, you can say so. But what would you think of apple picking?"

"It doesn't sound corny at all. If I'm being honest, I find the idea very a-peeling."

Barbara let out a very slow, long suffering sigh over the phone. 

"...I'm hanging up now."

"Barbara, wait! Let me apple-ogize for the pun."

"Walter Strickler."

"Yes?"

"I love you."

She sounded tired, and happy and entirely done with him in the fondest way possible. 

"I love you, too." the response came easily, as natural as spreading his wings.

Strickler nearly dropped his cellphone as his doorbell chimed.

"Oh, darn it!"

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I forgot I ordered take out!" Strickler stumbled out of the tub, wrapping himself in a towel. "The food's here and I'm skyclad!"

Barbara laughed.

"Well, go get un-skyclad and eat your food. I'll text you."

"I'll look forward to it." Strickler replied before ending the call.

He managed to throw on an undershirt and pair of sweatpants before answering the door. The delivery boy had blue streaks in his hair and an apology at the ready for the food being late.

Strickler tipped him a twenty and shut the door on him mid-sentence. Suddenly ravenous, he carried his food containers to the living room, settling down on the couch. He flipped on the televesion and settled on a documentary. Strickler demolished the food while watching a medium insist that the Prisoners of Alcatraz had never left.

By the time he was finished listening to ghost stories, the sun had nearly set. 

Strickler flipped on his porch-light as he carried the food containers to the trash. The chilled air whispered through the leaves of the gnarled oak tree that stood in his back yard.

He paused to admire it.

Strickler loved this time of the year. He loved the golds and ambers of the falling leaves, the crisp nights, the memories.

October reminded him of neighbors visiting to celebrate the harvest. He remembered bonfires, horse races, and prayers to ancient spirits.

Strickler used to look forward to the changeling holidays. The Eldritch Queen's children would travel from all around the world to undergo the sacred acts. Walpurgis, Fleadh nan Mairbh, Argante's Eve. 

Changelings would chant and dance in praise of the Mother of Monsters. When he was younger, Strickler would guide the ceremonies.

But that was _before_ he lost his faith. These days the dark rituals seemed more like slight of hand than true magic. The ancient traditions just another flavor of indoctrination.

He was thankful that Otto had taken over as High Priest after he married Gunmar. These days, Strickler wasn't sure he could stomach reciting the rites.

A scent of smoke drew him out of his nostalgia, and he was suddenly stuck by the overwhelming sense that something wasn't right.

It was an impalpable sensation, as quiet and ancient as the instinct that told the stag when to bolt. 

Strickler swiveled his head, scanning his fenced yard for any signs of danger. There was his herb garden, in need of weeding. The trash and recycling cans, the oak-tree, a chipped bird-bath.

He tensed, bringing his eyes back to rest on the oak tree. At first, he couldn't process what he was staring at. It looked like candleflames, flickering between the leaves. Rich, dull red, rimmed with a sickly yellow. The wicks formed two black spots in the center, almost like---

In a flash, he realized.

Strickler ran to the trash-cans, throwing himself forward and wrenching the lid off.

Burned into the underside of the trashcan lid was a Geomancer's Charm; a ward against Gumm-Gumms.

"Don't come any closer!" Strickler snarled, his eyes burning the same color as the autumn leaves.

The Gumm-Gumm deterrent stayed the same dull shade of black that it always way. The sigil was meant to glow in the presence of a Troll.

Keeping the lid lifted like a shield, Strickler knocked his palm against his temple.

No giggling ball of light emerged; from his ear or any other orifice.

Carefully, he made his way around the tree, bracing himself for an attack.

But there was no trace of anything there. No claw marks, no footprints, nothing except fallen leaves, and the distant smell of smoke in the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strickler had two weeks left before he had to return to his duties as a Principle teacher, and on monday, he began marking off the days. Fortunately for his blood-pressure, Monday was fairly uneventful. He spent the day working on his upcoming school obligations. Claire helped by recruiting several volunteers for the haunt, Jim being the first.

"I'll add it to my resume." he'd said.

The Drama and Art clubs joined forces to bring the dance to life. With the promise of extra credit and all you can drink Pumpkin Spice lattes, they went to work building decorations and creating playlists. The students worked with a fierce determination; well aware that the fate of their clubs depended on raising funds. Still, if they were going to manage, Strickler got the sense that they needed something more show-stopping.

He found surprising allies in this endeavor.

"I can spare this guy," Nomura said after inviting him over to her place. Strickler side-eyed the nine foot tall, two-headed clown animatronic. A bloody rubber grin split across one face like a wound, revealing multiple row of needle teeth. The other head's expression was twisted into an anguished scream, revealing an open throat with plastic fingers trying to emerge from the bowels of the beast.

"Doesn't work anymore, but Danilo and Danilowitsch definitely lend ambiance." Nomura gave the decoration an affectionate pat. 

"Ambiance." Strickler repeated doubtfully.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and jumped out of his skin as a rotted wolf head snapped it's jaws in his face.

"What about this beast?" Draal asked, holding up the animatronic zombie-wolf.

"Amadeus Wolfgang!" Nomura cackled, taking the decoration from him, "I thought I lost him! Where was he?"

"Beneath the severed heads. I hung them up for you."

Nomura was dramatically smaller than Draal in her human form, and exactly the right size to stand on her tiptoes and brush her forehead against his chin.

Draal snorted, clearly embarrassed at the public display of affection.

"I'm going to, ah, I'll just...with the bats." He explained, lifting a burlap bag marked 'Flying Bats.' "They may have claimed victory in the past, but this year, the children will NOT get past our defenses!"

  
The troll avoided looking at Strickler as he ducked his horns, making his way down the staircase from Nomura's attic.

"You have to tell him." Strickler said, giving her a critical look.

"And ruin the fun?" Nomura smirked before stooping down and picking up a box marked 'Donations.'

"Alright, Strickler. You can have the clown, the wolf and this box."

Even with his changeling strength, Strickler let out a grunt as she dropped the box into his arms.

"What's in this?"

"Everything you need to scare the skin off a few teenagers." 

Strickler frowned and turned to take one last look at the clown.

"I'm not entirely sure this is appropriate for a school event. Perhaps---"

The Clown let out a gurgling scream and doubled over, the hand in its mouth lunging for Strickler's throat.

The changeling's shriek rivaled a stalkling's as he exploded into troll-mode with flanchette's drawn.

"Hey, it works!" 

Nomura turned to grin at Stricklander; his pupils were paper-thin, and every last one of his quill-blades stood out like ruffled feathers.

"You're welcome!" she stated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday was marked off with an X, and Tuesday took it's place. His apple-picking date turned out better than he'd hoped. He and Barbara paid twenty dollars each to fill a bag with as many apples as they could carry. Strickler regaled Barbara with tales of apple-related superstitions, while Barbara held the ladder steady and described the time she set her shirt on fire trying to make candy-apples.

Strickler smiled down, plucking a perfect specimen of Gala Apple, and tossing it down to her.

Barbara caught it one handed. 

"You know, in ancient Greece, we'd be considered engaged now." Strickler explained, hopping down from the ladder.

"Really?" Barbara made a show of examining the apple.

"No, not really. It's a romantic notion, but the idea of the Greeks offering an apple to their beloved is pure urban legend. Still, all legends begin with a snippet of truth.The apple was considered sacred to Aphrodite. Tossing one to a beautiful woman was the Ancient Greek equivalent of sidling up to her,"

Here, he did exactly that, stepping closer and hooking an arm around Barbara's shoulders.

"And asking her, "How you doing?"

"Interesting." Barbra's eyes crinkled as she smiled, putting the apple into her bag. Then, she wrapped herself around Strickler, leaned forward and kissed him. 

"So." Barbara asked, taking a step back to admire his blush. "How are _you_ doing?" 

"Honestly? I'm a little short of breath. Now, My CPR skills are a little rusty, perhaps you could...."

She pressed a finger to his lips before he could say anything else stupid, and kissed him again.

Strickler was still grinning when he pulled up in front of the Lake House. Jim and Toby came out to help carry in the apples. Jim groaned quietly at the sight of them holding hands.

  
"Really?" He asked, "Right in front of me?"

"Yep." Barbara seemed to have accepted the rivalry between her son as boyfriend as a type of friendly banter. Strickler smirked at Jim, and she caught her son trying to trip him on their way up the stairs. But they both seemed happy, and she was just thankful that they were getting along better these days.

Tuesday was crossed out, and on Wednesday, the Janus Order failed an attempt to steal the _Inlustris Callis._ The official report stated that a guard dog attacked the agents who broke in, leaving them with multiple injuries and a renewed fear of dark bookstores  
When Strickler interviewed them after the fact, the wounded changelings swore that they'd had to run for their lives. Not from a dog, but a giant snapping turtle.

On Wednesday, Strickler decided he had earned an 'organic' brownie or two.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Wendsday passed, and the owner of Bright Tower Books and Novelties returned on Thursday. That day Strickler decided to eat alone at Mr. Benoits. Archuero was waiting for him with the Lunch Specials and information from the Janus Order.

"I can't say it's not just a rumor, but I heard that Stemhower was ordered to take something through the _Inlustris Callis_. Supposedly, the command came directly from Gunmar. I don't know if it was a troll, an artifact, or a human, I just wish I could tell you more."

"No, you've done well. I understand that there are limits to what you can do without raising suspicion." Strickler finished the single croissant he'd ordered, and slipped an envelope to Archuero along with the cash for his bill.

"Your paycheck." Strickler explained.

"I get paid?" Archuero repeated, raising his eyebrows. He used his thumb-nail to cut open the envelope and carefully slipped out the check.

For a long while, he stared at the number.

"It's standard pay for an Officer's Assistant." Strickler said, a bit defensively.

"Oh, no, no. It's a good number. It's a great number. Lotta zeros."

Unspeakable joy flickered across the younger changelings eyes.

"I'm going to pay off my car."

Archuero's eyes widened.

_"I'm getting a bearded dragon."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As night fell on thursday, the Janus Order contacted Strickler to inform him that Gunmar wanted to see him. Apparently, the Warlord had another gift for his queen. Near Midnight, Strickler stepped into the Darklands .

The Gumm-Gumm Queen tried to keep his face impassive as troll blood spattered across his shoes.

Even though half of his eyes were swollen shut, Newt didn't make a sound as the guards threw him at the foot of Gunmar's throne. 

The alchemist pulled a broken tooth from his mouth, then pushed himself to his feet. He gazed up at Gunmar not with fear, but genuine curiosity. 

"So you are the wench who poisoned my ambassador." Gunmar graveled.

"Wrong, on two accounts." Newt coughed, lifting a hand to his cracked ribs.

"Walt is my friend, i wouldn't hurt him. If I DID want him poisoned, his insides would be outside, and he would be very, very poisoned."

The Alchemist coughed again, spitting out another tooth.

"And I'm a bull."

Strickler jolted as Gunmar lunged from his throne. The Warlord's claws closed around the Newt's throat, lifting him into the air as if he weighed no more than a ragdoll.

"So you are the _bull troll_ who poisoned my ambassador." 

Decimaar formed in Gunmar's hand, and he brought the tip of the blade to rest between Newt's eyes.

A chittering screech rose from one of the alchemists pockets. A blur of red skittered squirrel-like up his arm, lunging toward Gunmar's face with an iron nail held like a sword.

Gunmar swatted the creature down, using his foot to pin the it in place.

"A gnome?" The Warlord snarled.

His lone eye narrowed.

"No. A redcap."

"Leave him alone!" Newt tried to bite Gunmar's hands with his broken teeth, and the Gumm-Gumm king pressed his hoof down until the redcap squealed.

"NO! Lyndenstrom!" Newt squirmed more violently, "Wait, wait wait! It's not his fault! I told Strickler the Wine was Elixlore! Me! Let Lydenstrom go!"

"You would die for a pet?" Gunmar brought Newt closer, his sour breath steaming against the alchemist's face.

"For a friend. Kill me." Newt repeated, "Not him."

From the ground, the not-gnome gave an anguished shriek, stabbing uselessly at Gunmar's hoof. 

Strickler winced as Gunmar kicked the redcap aside, and a waiting thrall swooped down and scooped it into a goblin-sized cage.

"Take the Redcap away. He will do well as part of my horde. And as for you..."

Gunmar placed Decimaar against Newt's throat, and began to press down until a thin stream of purple ran down the blade.

"A troll as fat as you will do better as a meal than a slave!"

"Gunmar, wait." Strickler set his hand on Gunmar's hip. "That's too easy for him."

The Warlord paused.

"Newt doesn't deserve your blade. He should rot in a cell. Alive, well-fed, comfortable in the knowledge that I am planning a fate for him that'll make Decimaar seem like mercy."

Strickler's eyes glowed yellow, and his lips pressed together in a knowing smile.

"You are certain that's what you want?" Gunmar eyed Strickler doubtfully.

The changeling nodded once, and Gunmar threw Newt to the ground.

"Thank you, your greatness." Strickler bowed, then he signaled to a few thralls.

"Get this waste of stone out of my sight." he ordered, pointing to the alchemist. "And clean him up. He's making a mess of Gunmar's throne room."

Two Grumm-Gumms stepped forward, only to be fiercely elbowed aside by a soldier with a whiteboard tied around her neck.

She loomed hungrily over Newt, her beady green eyes raking over him like a butcher assessing a carcass. Then, cracking her neck, she bent down and swung the Alchemist over her shoulder.

"Oh." Newt said quietly as she carried him off. "I guess I'm going this way, now."

From its cage, Lydenstrom let out a mournful shriek, crying out as it was carried in the opposite direction..

Silently, Strickler promised that he'd reunite them. He promised himself he'd get Newt out of the Darklands.

He just wasn't quite sure how.

Gunmar set a heavy claw on Strickler's shoulders, and the changeling shivered.

"Once again, Gunmar, you humble me with your generosity." He said quietly.

"Tell me, Stricklander. Is it night on the surface?" 

"It is."

Gunmar let out his breath slowly.

"Will you stay?"

Strickler was silent, shifting to trollform. Gunmar spoke softly, but the changeling knew it wasn't truly a request.

He nodded, trying not to think about the still-wet trollblood running down his husbands blade.

In a surprisingly tender gesture, Gunmar offered Stricklander his elbow. Wordlessly, the changeling accepted it, as if he were being escorted to a dance, rather then a cave.

With that, the Warlord led his Queen to their bedchambers.

On Friday, Strickler drove home, crawled into his bed, and spent most of the day there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Friday night, exactly five days before halloween, The Changeling was awoken from a bad dream by a phone call from the Trollhunter.

"Mr. Strickler?"

Strickler rubbed his eyes and checked the bedside alarm.

10:31 PM

"These aren't my normal office hours, Young Atlas." He let his head fall back onto the pillow, wondering what trollish thing he'd gotten into this time.

"Look, it's not a big deal, It's not...a trollhunter thing. but could you come pick me up? I don't feel safe."

Jim's voice was very small.

Strickler was awake in an instant.

"Where are you?" He demanded, throwing on his jacket and grabbing the car keys.

"I can't...I can't remember the remember the exact address. It's Oak street. Oak or Elm."

The words slurred a bit, and in the background, Strickler could make out something like Techno Music.

"You're at a party aren't you?" 

"Don't tell my mom."

"Whose party is it? Whose house?"

"Seamus Johnson."

Strickler turned onto main street, switching the phone to his other ear.

"Jim, Listen to me. I'm going to hang up for just a moment, but first I want you to go outside. What do you see?"

"Uh, a bunch of cars, some guy that's passed out, should I check on him?" 

"No, you worry about yourself. Do you see a sign nearby, or a streetlight?"

"Yeah, there's a streetlight."

"Alright. I want you to stand beside it, and don't go anywhere. Keep your phone on. I'll call you right back."

"Fine."

"Promise me."

"Fine, fine. Promise."

The Trollhunter sounded like he was falling asleep.

Strickler swerved around a car that was driving too slowly for his taste, and hit the speed dial to the Janus Order.

"Administrator Silver, I need you to get an address for me."

it took less than two minutes for the Janus order to get him what he needed. As soon as he had the house number, he made a U-Turn and started in that direction.

Strickler tried to call Jim back, but the phone rang five times and went to voicemail.

He tried again.

When it went to voicemail a third time, his eyes began to burn, and he pushed down on the gas pedal, his reptilian growl melding with the sound of the car engine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strickler let out a sigh of relief when he finally caught sight of the Trollhunter. 

Jim was hugging the streetlight, his head bowed so that a few strands of hair fell across his forehead.

Strickler put the car in park and stepped out.

Behind the streetlight, a house throbbed with techno music. Toilet paper hung in streamers from the tree, and strobelights flashed in a few windows, accenting paper ghosts and plastic skeletons.

"Are Toby and Claire in there?"

"No, They didn't wanna come."

"Alright." Strickler reached out and gave the boy's shoulder a gentle shake. "Let's get you home."

Jim shook his head.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"If I let go I'm gonna fall down, or throw up. Or both."

"Did you take anything?"

"No, I just had like, three glasses of juice."

"Juice." Even without a changeling's sense of smell, Strickler understood the situation instantly. He hooked his arm around the Trollhunter's waist, trying not to think about what people might say if they saw the Principle of Arcadia Oak's High transporting an underage drinker.

"In you go." Effortlessly, He lifted Jim into in the passenger seat, reaching across the buckle him in.

"So, you said you had four drinks?" Strickler asked as he climbed into the driver's seat. 

"No, like, Two or Three. It was just some kind of fruit punch." Jim mumbled. "Jungle Juice."

"Jungle juice." Strickler rested his forehead against the steering wheel for a brief second. "I'm going to guess you didn't alternate between 'juice' and water, did you?"

Jim shook his head.

Suddenly, the Trollhunter tensed, putting his hand on the door handle as he recognized the direction they were driving. 

"Wait, are we going to my house?"

"That is where you live."

"No, I can't let mom see me like this, she's already so stressed, I can't!"

Jim's hand closed on the door handle, and an instant before he opened it, Strickler slammed down on the master lock.

"Alright!" The changeling shouted, "Alright, we'll go to my house."

he let out a disgusted sigh.

"Were you actually going to tuck and roll?"

"I don't know." Jim answered.

"Honestly, what were you even doing at that sort of party? Considering your grades, I'd think you'd find a better use for your time." The car rolled to a stop as they reached a red light.

"It's too late for my grades." Jim said quietly.

"Oh, so you're just going to give up? You can handle a Troll Assassin but you draw the line at Advanced Algebra."

"IT'S TOO LATE!"

Jim punched the car window, his armor forming into place. 

The glass cobwebbed beneath his fist, and the trollhunter shook.

"I'm not going to graduate, Strickler. They're holding me back a year."

Strickler said nothing as the light turned green, but he noticed the shudders as they drove.

The Trollhunter was crying.

"Now, Young Atlas, There's no need for that." Strickler hit the left turn signal, "I'm sure we can find some extra credit for you. Worst case scenario, you'll face Summer School. Your mother's wrath is fierce, but she can't possibly be scarier than Bular."

"I killed Bular."

Jim wiped at his eyes with a gauntleted hand.

"I stabbed him through the chest, Strickler. He was screaming, and there was this blue light coming out of his eyes, and mouth, like he was on fire, and he was...he was screaming."

"Jim, you finished the fight. Bular would've killed you." 

"But a few months later, I go into the Darklands, and we make the Triad Contract. He could've lived, Strickler. Toby showed me these pictures, from the Vespa Warehouse. Bular was a person. He painted, he got sick, he listened to Papa Skull. We could've locked him in the Darklands with Gunmar. I talked to the ghost council, after Ceb's Trial, and when I came out, Kovi asked me if Frull was in there. She's just a baby, what do you tell a baby Gumm-Gumm when they ask about their dad? Bular was a baby Gumm-Gumm once. A gumball? Gumm-ling? He was a baby once and I killed him."

Strickler pulled into onto the side of the road.

"Look at me."

Jim shook his head.

"LOOK at me." Strickler order, more sharply this time.

Jim's eyes were swollen and red as he lifted them to look at his teacher.

"You killed Bular because you had no choice. Do you think he would've wasted a moment regretting your death?."

Strickler pulled out a fresh handkerchief, shoving it into Jim's hands.

"Bular deserved to die, Jim. You knew him for a month. I was forced to work with him for centuries. He killed hundreds of Trollhunters. Trollhunters with parents, and mates, and children. Sometime's he killed their families as well, not for any tactical advantage, but because he enjoyed doing it. And that's how he treated other trolls! Do you want to know what it was like for changelings? What he saw us as?"

"Food?" Jim ventured a guess.

"Tools. Toys. Something fun to break. He murdered changelings who were loyal. Friends and comrades of mine, because they caught him in a bad mood. Because he wanted a snack, because there was nothing better to do."

Strickler's knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

"He was a monster, Jim. Worse than Angor. Worse than Gunmar. Bular was nothing more than a well trained attack dog, and you put him down. If it were up to me, the Janus Order would give you a medal!"

They drove in silence for a while. Every so often, Jim would shake, or brush at his eyes, but other than that, he didn't say anything.

Strickler sighed.

"It depends." He said finally.

"Huh?" Jim sniffed, blowing his nose with the handkerchief.

"Baby Gumm-Gumms. What you call them depends on the tribe. Usually, it's the same thing you'd hear in Trollmarket. Whelp, Youngling, child. Some tribes refer to their children as cubs, or kits. Believe it or not, more old-fashioned changelings call their children fawns."

"Fawns?" Jim smiled just a little, "Like Bambi?"

"Exactly. Morgana's sacred animal is the deer, so some sects call male changelings Stags, and females Does."

"What do they call you?"

"A glorkhole."

"Hah."

Jim's laugh was half-hearted, but he listened without tears the rest of the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strickler kept a firm grip on the Trollhunters shoulders, helping the stumbling teen manuever his living room. 

"I've been seeing him." Jim murmured as Strickler guided him to the couch.

"What do you mean, Jim?"

"I keep having these dreams. I'm lying in my bed, and I wake up, and Bular's outside my window, with his face all broken and cracked, and his eyes...his eyes glowing. He doesn't move, he just stares. At least, that's how it was for a while. But the past week the dreams have been worse. Bular looks in my window, and lately, he's started talking to me."

Strickler filled a tall glass with water and brought it to the Trollhunter.

Jim held the cup between shaking hands.

"It's just a dream, I know it is, but when it's happening I can't move, I can't say anything. I just, lay there and stare out my window while he whispers."

Strickler sat down on the couch beside him.

"And what is it that Bular says to you in these dreams?"

"He says "Come Closer."


	16. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim isn't the only one whose past is coming back to haunt him.

"There's no need to call the police, Barbara. I've found him."

Strickler used his shoulder to hold the phone in place as he dropped a slab of bacon into the pan.

"It seems he took a walk to clear his head. Unfortunately, that gave his worries a chance to gang up on him."

He flipped a kitchen-knife across his knuckles, catching it by the handle as Barbara voiced her concerns.

"Yes, I know." he began chopping a tomato into paper-thin slices, "Eighteen years old. It seems like only yesterday he was falling asleep in my class, now he's just a few extra credit assignments away from graduating."

Strickler had to hold the phone away from his ear at the sounds she made in response to that.

"Oh, Barbara, I'm so sorry, I thought you knew." He kicked himself for letting that slip. While he was at it, gave Jim a few mental kicks as well as he scrambled for the right thing to say.

"The transition between high school and college is one of the most harrowing times in a young man's life. Change-"

The bacon was burning, so he flipped it and lowered the heat.

"-Change is painful, even to those who are accustomed to it. You and I both know that Jim's had more than his fair share. Dating Claire, his volunteer work with the chess club, a new man in his mother's life. An exceptionally charming, witty and humble man, but still. It's understandable that he's seeking a bit of independence. Jim's already asleep on the couch. Why not let him stay the night? In the morning, I'll have a talk with him; man to man."

Strickler winced. Preying on Barbara's insecurites as a single parent was below-the-belt, and he felt profound revulsion with himself for doing it.

But it worked, and there was genuine gratitude in her voice as she apologized for imposing.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. We both care about Jim and want what's best for him. Growing up is hard. I'm forty-nine, and I still haven't figured it out. Try to get some rest, Barbara. I'll bring home after rehearsal."

Strickler's shoulders slumped as he ended the call, guilt leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He was doing this for his mate and her fawn, but that didn't make it any easier.

He tucked the slightly-burnt bacon into a generous bed of lettuce and tomato before gluing the whole together with dressing. Satisfied with his work, Strickler grabbed a water pitcher off the counter and started toward the living room.

In the doorway, he paused.

His _date_ and her _son_.

That's what he'd meant.

  
"Rise and shine, Young Atlas."Strickler held the plate a good six inches above the table before dropping it. As planned, it clattered loudly on the coffee table. 

The pile of blankets on the couch groaned in response.

"Seriously?" Jim peered out from under the covers as Strickler refilled his glass for the third time. "I'm pretty sure I'm ninety-percent water by now."

"As much as I would love to see you with a hangover, it's in my best interest that you survive your training. Be thankful I'm willing to share an ancient changeling cure." 

"Do I want to know what's even on this?" Jim grimaced as he picked up the sandwich.

Strickler smirked in response. He turned toward the coat closet, pulling out a faux-fur blanket.

The Trollhunter took a cautious bite, then relaxed visibly.

"It tastes like a BLT."

"That's because it is." Strickler replied, dropping the blanket over Jim's head, "If there's one thing I've learned from being a teenager twice; it's that there's no hair of dog quite like grease, carbohydrates, and plenty of water."

Jim shrugged off the blanket.

"Are you feeling okay, Mr. Strickler?"

"If this is about the Grit Shaka---"

"It's not." Jim set aside the half-finished sandwich. "Ever since you started working for Gunmar again you've been acting weird. Not even Strickler weird, just...weird."

"You're still a bit drunk, so I'll forgive 'Strickler weird.'" The Changeling rolled his eyes and went to the closet to get Jim a blanket.

"You _BIT_ that emu, I mean, I appreciate it, but you went after it like...like Aaarrrggh does with cats. You almost stress-ate a football back in Trollmarket."

Jim shook his head as Strickler dropped another cover over his shoulders.

"And this is the fifth blanket you've gotten me. I'm good, I am _covered_." 

"I was just..." Strickler balked, recoiling as he realized exactly what he'd been doing.

Jim looked down.

"Listen, if there's something you can't tell me, if Gunmar's threatening you, then we can find another way to save the familiars. You don't have to---"

"No." Strickler shoved the plate back into Jim's hands. "We are not having this conversation. If you insist on discussing Cadmean Victories, why don't you tell me how your essay for my class is coming along. " 

"Okay! Okay, fine." Jim grabbed a throw pillow, holding it between them like a shield. "We won't talk about Gunmar."

"Hmph." Strickler looked satisfied with that answer as he flopped back into a lounge chair. 

Jim finished his sandwich, his eyes lowered in contemplation.

"You said Bular was worse than Gunmar. Was he always like that?"

_**/bular grumbling a protest as Stricklander draped himself over his back.** _

_**Bular's flat, sheild-like tale, thumping cheerfully against the nest bones.** _

_**Stricklander, flopping down beside his playmate with an exaggerated sigh.** _

_**"What does that even mean?"** _

_**"I don't wanna say."** _

_**"Please?"** _

_**"No! Father will tell you when we get to the surface!"** _

_**"Why'd you taunt me if you aren't gonna say?"** _

_**Bular's laugh, raspy and warm as he rolled on top of his future advisor.** _

_**"Because you look funny when you're angry!"** _

_**Heavy footsteps. The two of them scrambling apart. A massive form approaching.** _

_**Two blue eyes filled with reproach.** _

Strickler sat back and rubbed his face.

"No one is born a monster, Young Atlas." he said, "Though some of us do come by it more naturally than others. Believe me, I wish I could say that he was evil from the start, it would make it easier to hate. Easier to forget. But we both know you've grown wise to my tricks, so I'll be honest."

Strickler sighed, letting his hands drop into his lap.

"Gunmar molded Bular to be his enforcer. He expected unwavering brutality, and Bular would have stopped at nothing to live up to his father's expectations."

This time, Strickler willingly gave into the urge to tuck a blanket around Jim's shoulders.

"But Jim, if anyone could have found some remote, _infinitesimal_ shred of goodness in him, It would've been you. You've accomplished so much. Young Atlas. Focus on that. The triumphs, the one's you saved. Draal, Your mother, Chompsky, even that arrogant, self-serving changeling."  


"NotEnrique isn't so bad." Jim admitted.

"Who said anything about NotEnrique?" Strickler asked.

That managed to get a laugh out of him, but it was a frail sound, and Strickler could see that his eyes were beginning to fill with tears again.

Strickler took Jim's empty plate, using it as an excuse to give him some privacy.

Once he was alone in the kitchen, he took out his cellphone and called for backup.

Strickler was waiting at the door when it rattled under four heavy knocks. 

"Did you come alone?"

Blinky crouched down, squeezing himself through the doorway.

"Aaarrrgghh and I were collecting spider's thread for dream snares. There seems to be an abundance of it this time of year. I hope you don't mind, my friend has made use of your seednest."

"Well I'm glad you're here. This seemed more in your area of expertise." Strickler paused with the door half-closed. "Wait, what seednest?"

As Blinky hurried into the living-room, Strickler walked out onto the front porch. 

"My herb garden!!!"

He ran forward, but slowed to a stop as Aaarrrgghh burrowed down contentedly, destroying any hope of salvaging his cilantro.

Aaarrrgghh mumbled an apology, but the words melted into a jaw-splitting yawn.

"It's...fine. I was thinking of replacing it with a zen garden." Strickler said, leaning against the troll's flank. "Did Toby keep you up all day?" 

"No," Aaarrrgghh said. "Bad sleep. War dreams."

"Ah. I've had a few of those myself." Strickler plucked a maple leaf out of Aaarrrgghh's mane. He let the leaf fall, then brought his hand to rest on the moss-green fur between Aaarrrgghh's ears.

"Changeling's use mudwort tonic to treat the unseen wounds. I might have a spare jar, if you'd like."

Aaarrrgghh's body heaved with a sigh. 

"Alama?" he murmured, glancing toward Strickler.

It had become something of a routine for them. When the changeling and former general were alone, Aaarrrgghh would ask about the friends he left behind.

"Alamastia is as 'charming' as ever. She still vows to make a cape from your pelt." Strickler grimaced, "Since her father died, she's more determined than ever to prove herself as a general." 

"Caleche dead?"

"His heart gave out during a hunt. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

"Sad." Aaarrrgghh bowed his head briefly to honor the Gumm-Gumm bonemender. 

"Grike?"

"Grike is alive and kicking. They finally went ahead and got those ears pierced."

"Oddball safe?"

"You wouldn't even recognize her. I know the Janus Order reported that she stopped growing in the nineteenth century, but I swear she's nearly twice your size now. Gunmar's put her to work as a gamekeeper."

Aaarrrgghh's eyelids lowered.

"Small." He held his hand about a foot off the ground, "Small; when I ran away."

"Yes, well, leave it to a Frost Troll to thrive in a frozen wasteland."

Strickler scratched the base of Aaarrrggghh's neck. A little bit of the tension left them both, and Aaarrrggghh leaned into the touch.

"Jim sad. Why?"

"It's complicated. Try to understand, You and I aren't perturbed by the thought of taking a life. For changelings; it's a matter of self-preservation. For trolls; just finishing the fight." 

Strickler briefly thought about all the times Jim could have finished him. The battle of two bridges, the day he returned to Arcadia, That moment alone in the gyre station, after he'd released the binding spell.... 

"But modern humans are rarely killers. Only ten or so out of every hundred thousand."

"Lot of humans." Aaarrrgghh drowsed.

"Yet Jim has killed twice. With Angor Rot. He had a score to settle, especially after you were poisoned. But Jim didn't hate Bular. He hadn't seen the things he was capable of. I'm afraid this alliance is giving him a romantasized view of his enemies, making him second guess himself. Jim needs to understand that he had no choice but to kill Bular."

"Jim not kill."

"What?" Strickler stopped, and it was in that moment that he realized he'd been scratching Aaarrrgghh like a dog.

His hand started to shake, and the changeling was quick to shove it into his coat pocket.

"Jim not kill." Aaarrrgghh explained. "I kill Bular. Save Wingman. That why."

"Why what?"

"Why bad dreams. Why see Bular."

The former Gumm-Gumm pressed his snout into his forearm, as if to hide his eyes. Another powerful sigh shuddered through him and he fell silent.

Strickler had questions. This new information went against everything the Janus Order knew about Bular's death. But a quick glance told him Aaarrrgghh was in no position the answer. The restless giant had finally fallen asleep.

Strickler was startled by the distinct feeling that he was an intruder in his own house. 

Jim's face barely poked out through his cocoon of blankets. Blinky was crowded to one side of the couch, pinned in place by the Trollhunter nestled in his lap.

The historian hummed quietly to himself, a faint smile suggesting he took no offense at being used as pillow. Two of his hands were occupied with one of Strickler's coffee table books. One arm was free, and the other rested gently around Jim's shoulders. 

Blinky looked every bit the patient father as he licked his thumb and turned a page. He looked more human, more at home, than Strickler had felt in weeks.

"I'm going to bed. Aaarrrgghh's out cold, be sure to get him inside before dawn." Strickler gestured toward the kitchen. "Help yourself to the recycling."  


"Thank you for your hospitality." Blinky lifted his eyes from the book; all six of them warmed by a smile. "Master Jim was a bit melancholic after his libations, but whatever you said seemed to have brought him some measure of comfort."

Blinky gave the the blanket-covered Trollhunter a pat.

"Not to mention! You even had the foresight to build him a nest! I think you're doing remarkably well, considering no one ever taught you how to---"

It was at that point that Strickler went up the stairs to his bedroom.

Slamming the door made him feel a little bit better. 

"Move over!" Strickler growled, dropping onto the bed. 

A moment later he remembered that this wasn't the Darklands, and he didn't have to fight for space.

He had the bed all to himself.

Strickler ran his palm over the cool duvet and wondered what Barbara was doing right now.

She was worried about Jim, so she'd probably forgotten to take off her glasses before bed again. 

Strickler smiled at the thought. He knew she had a habit of falling asleep with them on. Sometimes when they were snuggled up on the couch. Each time, he carefully removed her glasses and set them safely aside. Other than that, he tried not to move too much. He knew how exhausted Barbara was. Besides, Strickler loved the way her head felt on his shoulder, and he wanted to keep it there for as long as possible. 

Gunmar, on the other hand, was probably sharpening his horns. That, or he was patrolling the guardposts one last time. When he was done, he'd check the bedfurs for goblins, then curl up like a pangolin and---

_"Nope."_

With a grunt of disgust, Strickler stomped into the master bathroom. He turned on the sink and splashed his face with cold water until goosebumps prickled his skin.

He did not care was Gunmar was doing. He would NEVER care what Gunmar was doing.

And he hadn't built a nest!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strickler stepped back as a gout of red burst from the Trollhunter's throat.

Jim's final breath emerged in a faint gasp as he clawed at the skeletal jaws locked around his neck. The flayed, eyeless thing biting him snarled. Then, it drove him to his knees, lifting sickle-shaped claws to finish him off.

Then, the monster stiffened.

"You're on my foot, Buttsnack!" It snapped, shoving Jim away.

"Right." Strickler tapped his pen against his chin, "Let's cut down on the blood by...oh, say, ninety percent. And Steve, these things are going to happen. You can't break character."

"Sorry, Mr. Strickler." The monster removed it's head, revealing the flushed face of Arcadia Oaks High's top linebacker, "Jim Lame's bad acting is rubbing off on me."

"Now if only some of his maturity could do the same. Alright, Guide B, Swap with Guide A, let's take it from "Follow the line, or you'll share the same fate as me!"

Eli smiled, double checking his white and black greasepaint in a compact before hurrying to his place in the haunt.

"P-please!" He lifted his hand in supplication, voice quavering, "The line! You must keep to the line! It'll keep you safe!!!"

He pointed to the strips of duck-tape that would lead the students of Arcadia Oak's safely through the cardboard maze.

"Hurry!" Eli cried out, "Go! Or you'll end up just like--"

He gave a piercing shriek as Steve pounced on him, and Strickler was almost impressed as the boy went completely limp.

"Nicely done, Elijah. Jim, do you mind if I give you a few pointers?" Strickler pointed with his pen to Coach Lawrence' office, where a snackbar had been set up for the haunt volunteers. 

"I appreciate your help last night, but you really couldn't let me sit this rehearsal out?" Jim asked a few moments later. A loud bang from the haunt made him wince and grip his head.

"I could have, but where would the fun in that be?" Strickler helped himself to a bat-shaped cookie. "Have you been drinking water?"

"I've been drinking coffee." Jim sighed and grabbed a paper cup of the black nectar, topping it off with pumpkin spice creamer.

"You don't even like coffee, Young Atlas."

"Like and need are very different things."

"Mm." Strickler couldn't argue with that. "On another note, do you really think that's an appropriate costume for a school haunt?"

For emphasis, he poke Jim in the chest with his pen. The writing implement made a faint 'clanking' sound.

Jim shrugged and brushed fake blood off the Eclipse Armor. 

"It's dark, it's spooky, what's not appropriate?"

"Well considering your current alliances, I'd think your Daylight Armor would be a better choice."

"Why? Because you think someone will tell Gunmar?" Jim chugged half his coffee, then topped it off again. "Since when do you care what Gunmar thinks?"

"I don't." Strickler gazed at a tub of ice water and the off-brand sodas bobbing at the top. Briefly, he daydreamed about dunking Jim.

Instead, he turned to face the Trollhunter and forced as much patience into his voice as he could manage.

"If this peace is going to last, then there needs to be an appearance of respect on both sides."

" _Respect?_ " Jim crushed the paper cup and tossed it overhand into the waste basket, "The last time I talked to Gunmar he _threw_ a _baby_ at my _head_."

"Sometimes you need to be the bigger person, Jim."

"He's like twelve feet tall, and a thousand years older than me!"

"Six thousand years, and set in his ways!" 

Strickler growled to himself and rubbed his temples.

"I'm doing-" He stopped, corrected himself, "The _Janus Order is doing_ the best they can. But we are working against millenia's worth of bad blood. Changing minds will take time, you can't win Gunmar over as easily as you did Trollmarket."

"You think it was easy?" The red lines in Jim's armor began to glow as his voice rose, "You have no idea how hard it was, especially with---"

"I KNOW. I know you had a hard time!" Strickler pressed his palms to his eyes, pressing on them, trying to force the yellow glow away, "I know Bular and I made it worse, I'm trying to make up for that! I'm trying to prove to you that I care, but I don't know how you expect me to---" 

The door burst open and La Llorona walked in. She nearly tripped on her long, black hair as she stepped between them.

"Come on," she said, taking Jim's hand, "Let's take a walk."

Even through her white contacts, Strickler could tell Claire was glaring at him as she pulled Jim out of the office.

The rest of the audition went off without a hitch. The Changeling and Trollhunter avoided each other, and Strickler's blood pressure had almost returned to normal.

At least until he came across Steve Palchuck and Eli Pepperjack huddled together in one corner of the maze.

They were staring down at a cellphone.

"I'm telling you," Eli said in a hushed tone, "I saw it outside Domalski's house. It was looking in the window. The thing is, I've SEEN this one before, but it was a long time ago."

"Is it's face on fire, or are those glowy spots the eyes?" Steve whispered. he set an arm around Eli's shoulder, their cheeks nearly touching.

"I think those are the eyes, but it could've been on fire. It smelled like the chiminey in my living room."

"A fire creeper." Steve murmured solemnly. "A Freeper."

"What are you looking at?" 

Both of the boys jumped as Strickler stepped out from behind a cardboard coffin.

"Mr. Strickler, we might have evidence of---OW!" 

Eli let out a yelp as Steve drove his elbow into his ribs.

"We were just watching your video, Mr. Strickler." Steve grabbed Eli's cellphone, typing something frantically.

"My video?" Strickler repeated, at a loss.

"Uh, yeah. From when you saved Jim? That was really cool." Eli winced as he rubbed his side.

"I wasn't aware there was a video." 

"There's like ten of them!"

"Yeah, see?" Steve passed Strickler the phone, which was frozen on a screenshot of Jim pinned beneath an emu.

The title above simply said.

'British Dude Ostrich Takedown' Meme Compilation.

Strickler pressed the play button and took a long moment to gather his thoughts.

Over a thousand years of inconspicuousness, and here he was on camera, tackling an emu to the full-color sound and fury of Unexpected John Cena trumpets. 

And the mournful notes of Derulo's Whatcha Say in slow-motion black and white.

And dubstep.

"It really was a cool tackle." Steve admitted, "Maybe you could give the junior team some pointers."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Steve." Strickler handed Eli his phone back, "It look like rehearsals are going to run late today. Do you think six pizzas would feed the actors and stage crew?"

Steve's face broke out into a grin.

"Sure! That should be enough!"

"You know, why not make it seven. You have your drivers license, right?"

Strickler grabbed a few bills out of his wallet and passed them to him.

"Awesome!" Steve lifted his hand, and Eli jumped up to high five it, "C'mon, Pepperjack. you can help me carry them."

"Actually, I think Mr. Lake should accompany you. He could use some fresh air."

"Okay?" Steve looked puzzled, but was clearly more concerned with a chance to take a break from rehearsal. 

As he walked out of the maze, Eli turned to follow.

Strickler stopped him with a hand to the shoulder.

"May I have a word with you, Elijah?" 

Eli's eyes flickered up to examine his teacher's face for a moment, then he glanced down.

"You say you had evidence of something. I don't think you were referring to dank memes."

Eli stared at the ground in silence.

"Elijah, I don't think you're crazy. You're one of my best students. If you say you've seen something, then I believe you."

The teenager shivered, and Strickler felt a horrible twinge of guilt as Eli met his eyes.

"You do?" He asked, hopefully.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio," Strickler began.

"Than are dreamt of in your philosphy!" Eli finished eagerly, "Hamlet!"

"Precisely. Now, can you show me what it is you saw?"

Shyly, Eli scrolled through his phone, settling on a photo.

Strickler's blood ran cold as he looked over the dark shape looming beside the Domzalski house.

It was familiar. All of it.

The broken horn.

The crooked fangs.

**_"Oh, you shall beg."_ **

"Elijah," Strickler said, forcing his voice to steady, "Could you send me a copy of this?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stricklander thought about poison as he held the mug between his palms.

  
He'd watched the glug being poured. It was easy to see over the counter of the Troll Pub, and he was backed by allies who would retaliate in an instant if he was harmed.

But as he stared into the pondscum-colored liquid, Stricklander couldn't help but think how easy it would be for someone to slip a few drops into it. The world of trolls was home to a variety of subtle and excruciating poisons, most of which he shared an intimate familiarity.

He tried to swirl the fluid, but it gloshed rather than flowed. Viscous and thick enough to hide creeper's sun, or a schmoof, or any manner of well-deserved, unpleasant things.

  
The sound of a throat being cleared jolted him out of his morbid thoughts.

"Would you prefer we switch glasses?" Vendel asked from across the table.

"Of course not." Stricklander replied, "I would never accuse a troll of your standing...of...of..." 

His voice trailed off as Vendel grabbed a passing gnome by the back of its coat. The creature chittered under it's breath, then began to sputter as Vendel dipped it into his mug.

Stricklander stared, then covered his mouth. None of his spy training had taught him the proper response to that. 

"My grandfather Kilfred would always begin meetings with a traditional gnome dipping, As a sign of good faith." 

Vendel offered him the gnome.

"Good faith." Stricklander repeated. He accepted the gnome, trying not to make eye contact with it.

The gnome showed no poisoning symptoms after he dunked it. If anything, it seemed to be in a better mood, humming between hiccups as it staggered away.

Stricklander watched it go, then returned his attention to Vendel.

"Don't misunderstand, I can't thank you enough for taking the time to meet with me, but I'm curious; Why the Troll Pub?"

The Elder Troll smiled evenly.

"What better place to discuss spirits?" 

Stricklander drummed his claws against the side of the mug, trying to decide how much he could afford to say.

"There have been many revelations since the Janus Order joined forces with Trollmarket, but none of them quite as ground-breaking as the existence of the The Council of Elder Trollhunters. Definitive proof of life after death. That was-"

Against his better judgement, Stricklander took a drink of the glug. 

"-That was quite the shock." 

"Imagine how we felt about your secrets!" Vendel replied, "To think, this entire time, Unkar the Unfortunate had a changeling grandmother. The scandal nearly sent Usurna into fits."

"An _unregistered_ changeling grandmother." Stricklander corrected, "No affiliation with us. As I was saying, some of my brethren are frightened by the thought of revenant Trollhunters; their worried that the past might literally coming back to haunt them."

Stricklander licked his lips, pleasantly surprised at how smoothly the glug went down.

"Is that something they _should_ be worried about?" he asked, taking another swig.

Vendel seemed unperturbed by the question. It was a pleasant change from their usual terse interactions. 

"You're saying that changelings are concerned the dead might seek revenge?"

"Not all changelings, per se." Stricklander replied, "But human legends are filled with restless spirits. Considering our nature, there's bound to be a bit of cultural exchange."

"So your people are frightened by these legends. They turn to you for reassurance, while you turn to Gunmar for leadership."

"I'm not sure what that has to do with---"

"I'm curious; why seek my counsel on the subject when you could have his?"

Stricklander grimaced at the thought.

"Gunmar's not the type to care about our consciences. His 'counsel' would be useless at best. He's agreed to a truce, not rehabilitation of his personality." His frown deepened, as if tasting something sour. 

"But you on the other hand," Stricklander was startled by a genuine flare of emotion, "You are the first troll whom I've genuinely felt I could trust. You didn't execute NotEnrique when you had the chance, or me, for that matter."

Stricklander took a moment to consider the contrast between the Gumm-Gumm King and Trollmarket's leader.

Gunmar, all roiling thunder and dark intentions, a mythic, immortal figure who had ruled with a cursed blade and iron fist.  
And Vendel. 

There was nothing legendary in how he hobbled, or the stoop of his back. He was more likely to be found carving gemstones or shooing gnomes out of his cave, rather than leading combat drills. He was thoughtful, and as quick with a biting retort as Gunmar was with a sword.

In a fight to the death, there was no question who would emerge triumphant.

Yet Stricklander had a great deal more respect for Trollmarket's leader.

"After everything we've done; you offered changelings sanctuary in Trollmarket. For once, there's a place they can go without fear of being slaughtered, or enslaved."  
A crack formed in his mug, and Stricklander winced. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been gripping it. 

"I'm asking you because I trust you. Is that enough to satisfy your curiosity?" He leaned back, the very essence of nonchalance.

Vendel hummed, stroking his beard .

"You give me too much credit. If I had it my way, you'd still be collecting dust in the stronghold. Jim Lake is the one who asked for mercy. I never expected you to prove yourself worthy of it. Imagine my surprise when you walked through Killahead, holding a treaty, with our Trollhunter at your side."

The elder troll smiled over the rim of his mug.

"Then again, you are as unpredictable as you are uncontrollable."

That helped Stricklander relax a bit. He chuckled, then signaled for the bar troll to bring them another round.

"As for your concerns." Vendel continued, "The changeling's have nothing to fear from the dead. With the exception of our Trollhunters, the felled rest. They don't wander. Humans may be afraid of dying, but trolls know it's just a part of life. Life is precious. Death is peaceful. It's the _transition_ that is troublesome."

The empty mugs were swapped for full, and Stricklander grabbed his, eager for another drink.

"If your changelings are afraid of vengeance, they should concern themselves with the living, not the dead."

"But you can't dismiss the existence of ghosts outright." Stricklander stated, "The Trollhunter talks with them every weekend. Say that an angry troll spirit was prowling about, how would you deal with it?" 

"Well, why do the spirits in human legends wander?" 

Stricklander frowned for a moment.

"Usually unfinished business. Regrets."

"Then I would suggest you find what this troll spirit regrets and deal with it." 

Stricklander shuddered. He was about to down the rest of his glug when a sudden uproar made him jolt. The mug fell, splashing into his lap as he cursed quietly.

On the other side of the bar, Archuero was looking vaguely green as he slammed down a shot glass. The cheers of the changelings around him died down, but the mood remained upbeat.

"That'll put an edge to your horns!" Eloise cackled, stirring a fruity-looking cocktail garnished with an eyeball.

"Oi, you need a chaser, whelp?" Krax had been gazing longingly across the bar at the quagawump brewmaster, Glug, but he looked away long enough to grin and give Arch a slap on the back. 

"Oh, no, no. I always drink mouthwash and paint thinner at nine in the morning" Arch hacked a little, making a face like a cat on the brink of bringing up a hairball. "I'm guessing this place doesn't have jalapeno poppers?"

"No human food down here, honey." Gladysgro told him, "But they do have these really good stuffed ping-pong balls."

"Those are fantastic." Krax agree, smacking his lips.

"I don't know, Krax." Eloise smirked, "Ping Pong balls won't hit the spot when you're craving greens."

Krax ducked his head down, and the other two howled at the blush that colored his stone.

Stricklander glanced away from the laughing changelings to Vendel, lifting his gaze briefly to meet the Elder Trolls eyes.

"That reminds me, there's one other thing I need to discuss with you."

Vendel sighed and took a last gulp of glug.

"Of course a changeling would have two things on his mind." He gestured absently, "Discuss away."

"Things have become awkward with one of my underlings. Ever since the alliance, I've noticed he's been acting strangely. He simply-"

Here, Strickler let his eyes wander over to the changeling group, as if against his will. It wasn't an accidental motion. He just wanted Vendel to think it was.

"-Isn't himself." 

Vendel's brow furrowed at that.

"Stricklander, do you suspect possession?"

"No, nothing as dramatic as that. But I have seen a change in his behavior. He's chasing animals, growling, craving inhuman foods. I've even noticed him acting more...paternal, around the younger recruits. It's as if his feral instincts are overtaking him."

"Feral instincts." Vendel repeated. The elder troll pressed his folded hands to his forehead, deep in thought.

"You're certain it isn't gravesand?"

"No, we test for that."

Vendel lowered his hands.

"Has this changeling been in contact with Gunmar?"

Stricklander frowned, as if he had to think it over.

Under the table, he dug his shaking claws into his knee.

"Contact?" 

"Sparring, grooming, bringing him his meals." Vendel clarified, "Even something as innocuous as polishing a weapon he favors could cause the effect."

The word sparring made his stomach drop. Just the other day, Gunmar had nearly broken his back teaching him how to deflect a charge. 

"What effect would that be?"

Stricklander tried to prop his arm on the table, resting his chin on his fist. But his stone was clammy, and his elbow slipped, knock his empty mug off the edge.

Vendel caught the cup without looking, carefully setting it back in place.

"Gunmar the Black was born from a Heartstone's corruption, and so corruption he became. Shortly after his birth, Stories spread about the Trolls who chose to follow him, that they became more primal and fierce the longer they served. There were rumors of Gumm-Gumms with extra horns, tentacles, eyes growing where there were no need for eyes. Rumours they remained, until Tellad-Urr brought us proof."

For a brief instant, Stricklander felt hope. Tellad-Urr was infamous for his alliance with the Gumm-Gumms. The wayward Trollhunter had probably been all too eager to spread propaganda on Gunmar's behalf.

"I see." Stricklander leaned forward. "And what evidence did he bring?"

"When Tellad-Urr's corpse was being bathed for the heroes forge, one of his relatives noticed that he had begun to grow a second row of teeth. Much sharper than his first."

Vendel began to say something else, but Stricklander couldn't hear him over the sudden hitch in his breathing,

His vision blurred, and the room began to spin. Stricklander pressed his hands to the table, pushing himself to his feet.

When he lifted them, he found he'd left two perfect palmprints of sweat on the tabletop.

"Stricklander, are you feeling unwell?"

Vendel's concern did something to ground him, and the changeling shook his head, both in answer and to clear his vision.

"I knew it would be dangerous to allow changelings to work closely with Gunmar," He explained. "but I never imagined to what degree. " 

"The Dishonorable Bodus wrote that Decimaar's black magic did something to diminish Gunmar's aura." Vendel explained, "With time and heartstone, your friend may learn to live with his new, trollish nature."

"How long do we keep him away from Gunmar before the effect wears off?" Stricklander was already plotting his excuses.

Vendel sighed.

"There is no 'wearing off.' I'm afraid Gunmar's corruption is permanent." 

Once he was calm enough, Stricklander returned to his human form. Arch was standing at the bar, and Strickler came up behind him, just in time to hear the Garden troll barkeep growl;

"I'm cutting you off."

"We've only had one round." the younger changeling argued, "Those trolls are on their tenth."

He waved toward a pair of snoring volcanic trolls.

"Trolls." The barkeep repeated, slamming down a half-washed mug. "Not changelings. And especially not THAT one."

She pointed past Arch's shoulder at Strickler. 

Arch's lips curled over his fangs. The tip of his tail twitched just once as he leaned across the bar.

"Listen to me." He said with ice in his voice, "If you have a problem with Strickler, then you and I are gonna---"

A massive blue fist slammed down on the bartop, cutting him off.

When the fist rose, it left behind a bag of coins.

"Forget the Impure, Cepa." Draal declared. "I'll take a full round of Theobroma ale, don't skimp on the wolfram salts."

The garden troll nodded briskly then got to work preparing the drinks.

Arch took a long moment to stare at Draal's fist.

He seemed keenly aware that it was easily bigger than four of his own.

"Strickler, That's Draal. Draal the Destroyer. Son of Kanjigar." 

"It is." Strickler agreed. 

"Are we...are we safe?" Arch whispered.

A barstool creaked beneath the warrior troll's weight as he sat down beside them. 

"Is this one new?" Draal asked.  
"This is my assistant, Archuero. Archuero; Draal. Draal, Archuero. He's more comfortable if you call him Arch." 

"So you got yourself a page." Draal nodded as Cepa set a tray of drinks in front of him. 

Arch was silent; staring straight forward like a cat caught in headlights.

"Is he alright?" 

"Oh, He's fine, just petrified." Strickler stated, "You have quite the reputation in the Janus Order."

Draal seemed pleased to hear that. He grabbed one of the frothy mugs off the tray and downed it in a gulp.

"I'm done." He announced, "Page, take the rest of these."

Draal gave Arch a nudge, then pointed a thumb toward the Trollmarket changelings.

"I---" Arch's hid his surprise with a smile, "Thanks."

Draal nodded again, and Strickler gave him a brief look of admiration before helping himself to one of the ales. 

Arch grunted, staggering under the weight of the drink tray. He visibly perked up as the other changelings greeted him with whoops and cheers that sounded just as human coming from their troll forms.

Strickler smiled to himself, taking a seat beside Draal. Finally feeling some semblance of peace, he sighed and lifted the mug of ale to his lips.

A gray-green paw reached over the bar and smacked it out of his hand. 

"I want you out, Impure!" Cepa roared. The Barkeep was quaking with rage. The blossoms on her branch-like horns flared open; filling the room with the bitter scent of monkshood. 

Gladysgro and Krax pushed themselves away from the table, rising to their feet with glowing eyes. Arch stood as well, reaching for something in his pocket.

"It's not about changelings." Cepa hissed, then again, "It's not about changelings!"

Strickler lifted his hand toward the advancing changelings, palm out. In a swift gesture, he pointed down, and obediently they returned to their seats.

"Go on, then." he told Cepa, folding his arms across his chest. 

"Gunmar took my parents as thralls when I was a sprout. My uncle took me under his bough, raised me. He was at The Massacre of Tradnara's Ravine. You were there, too. You and your poisoned Dwarkstone grenades."

For a split second, Strickler thought she'd confused him with another changeling. But then he realized where he'd heard the name Tradnara before.

Beside him, he heard Draal breathe in sharply as he, too, remembered it.

"My uncle, and dozens of my kinstrolls turned to stone by your Janus Order. Slaughtered. And for what? Gunmar?" Cepa leaned over the bar, sharp roots at her fingertips seemed to lengthen as she brought her face close to Strickler's.

He didn't react. Didn't recoil. He kept his spine straight and his face impassive. 

"Actually, Gunmar didn't order the attack. That was _my_ decision."

Draal looked at Strickler, then looked across the bar at Vendel. 

The elder troll said nothing, but he was watching them closely.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Strickler explained, "but the attack needed to happen."

Cepa grabbed a cudgel from beneath the bar. She lunged toward Strickler, the weapon raised.

Strickler caught her wrist, twisting his hands with a snarl and flipping her over his shoulder. 

The garden troll crashed into a table, and was on her feet in an instant.

"The River and Garden trolls were on the brink of war!" Strickler sidestepped a fist, and deflected a cudgel-blow with his forearm, "They were meeting at the ravine every night! They were so busy feuding over territory that they didn't think of the risks they were taking. Trolls were nearly exposed to Arcadia!"

Cepa let out a howl of grief, forgoing the cudgel in favor of a charge. 

Strickler set one foot back and squared his shoulders.

For an instant, the green rivertroll was replaced by a dark form in his minds eye, and the bar with he cruicible pit.

**Horns low, horns high.**

For a moment, he could hear Gunmar's instruction as clearly as if he were standing behind him.

Strickler surged into his troll form, keeping his horns up. Once Cepa was close enough, he swooped down and grabbed her branch-like antlers.

The Changeling bellowed, throwing himself backward, using her momentum to fling her over his head. Cepa crashed into the bottles and jars hanging above the bar, and Stricklander growled, advancing toward her.

"A common enemy was the only way to end the feud! We turned the River and Garden trolls on the Janus Order to keep them from revealing us all!" 

He snatched one the blades from his collar, turning it over in his hand as he approached the stunned garden troll. 

"Cepa!" Krax stepped forward to intervene, but Eloise swung her arm across his chest to stop him. 

"Troll rules down here, Remember?" She hissed to him, "Rule number two."

"Scum." Cepa quivered as she tried to push herself up. "Gunmar's Dog. Impure!"

Stricklander crouched down and stabbed the flanchette into the earth beside Cepa's hand.

"Go on." He growled, lifting his chin, "You want your pound of flesh, don't you? So what if you end the treaty, what are a few more centuries of war compared to your pride! Justice for your uncle is worth more than innocent lives, isn't it? What could be easier than doing what's right?"

The garden troll grabbed the blade, staring at it for a moment. Every eye was focused on them as she lifted the flanchette.

But she was a barkeep, not a warrior, and eventually the blade fell from her hand, clattering to the ground. 

Stricklander glared at her, returning the blade to his collar. Then, after a moment, the fire left his gaze, and he stooped forward, picking up shards of broken glass.

Another form knelt down beside him, and Arch leaned forward, using a cloth to mop up the spilled liquor. Gladysgro joined them, setting the shelves back in place.

"You're alright, Cepa." Krax said, reaching down to help the barkeep up, "C'mon, let's get you to the oil baths. That always sets ya straight."

"Keep your hands off me, Impure." Cepa recoiled, hugging herself. 

Krax drew back as if he'd been burned.

Stricklander felt his phone vibrate, and he grabbed it from his cloak, reading the single-worded text.

_**Phonoi.** _

"We have to go, Achuero." He said, returning to human form.

At that instant another cellphone chimed. Then another. One by one, every changeling in the bar drew a cellphone out of a dress, or vest, or loincloth, each of them receiving the same warning.

  
Code Phonoi.

A changeling had been murdered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked Strickler's memory of Bular, check out History's Witness by Stricklanderkin (bl00dw1tch). While that Strickler isn't the exact same as the one who married Gunmar, he did inspire this incarnation of him.


	17. The Felled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Halloween nears, Strickler is preoccupied by thoughts of the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some gore.

Strickler came to a stop outside the Janus Order's morgue. Arch, in his human form had been following close behind, and the abrupt stop nearly sent him crashing into his employer.

"Wait for me out here." Strickler ordered.

"You think this is my first stiff?" Arch's voice was muffled by his Janus Order mask, "I've been in battle before. If you want me to go with you---"

"Wait. Here." 

Arch nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning against the wall.

Strickler was silent as he stepped into the morgue. He once read that In the old world, Before Gunmar, there were certain ways of laying a changeling to rest. If slaughtered by Daylight, the dust from their bodies would be scattered on a moonless night, the ashes cast to the wind, along with their secrets. An intact corpse would be bathed in running water. They would be wrapped in a shroud and buried deep into the quiet earth; usually beneath a tree. Runes would be carved into the trunk to protect the grave from desecration and blood magic. A dead changeling belonged somewhere dark and cool. A resting place where they could remain hidden and undisturbed, finding in death the peace life denied an assassin.

But this wasn't the old world. The Janus Order had little sentimentality for the living, and absolutely none for the dead.

Most of the surfaces in the morgue were chrome; spotless to the point of being antiseptic. The glaring overheads allowed no comforting shade to the still figure in the center of the room; and the cold steel slab beneath was a far cry from the bed of earth it deserved.

At least the Janus Order had the decency to cover it with a cloth.

Strickler's footsteps echoed as he stepped toward the corpse. The size and shape told him that it was in troll form, although something seemed off about the lower body. He'd seen thousands of dead changelings in his lifetime. Some of them he personally sent to their death. Changelings weren't like humans. There was no solidarity in survival. No tribalism. Strickler told himself that they could change that. He told himself changelings could claim the glory they deserved, that they could rise above their given state as disposable pawns. Easy for him to say now, when the sacrificing was done.

Easy to look down, once he'd climbed the fallen pieces; lifting himself from a rook to a queen.

"I'm so sorry." Strickler murmured, setting his hand over the covered face.

A freezer door slammed shut, and the spymaster drew back.

"Sir." The medical examiner's greeting was curt. He was broad shouldered and big bellied, more fat that muscle, but he made up for it in with an imposing stature and a surprisingly lusterous red ponytail. Strickler thought the voice was familiar, but he couldn't see his face behind the Janus Order mask.

"Who was it?" Strickler asked.

The medical examiner leaned forward, tugging the cloth down to the corpses breastbone.

"To his human friends? Alex Wood. But his real name was Addergoole."

The dead changeling's mouth was more snout than face, with a long-canined overbite. The bridge of his nose was sunken and puckered with scar tissue. His matted braids were pulled back into elaborate ghana twists. Here and there, light, sand-colored spots flecked his stone hide.

"Hyena Troll." The medical examiner explained.

"Ra Troll. They prefer to be called---nevermind." Strickler shook his head. "What do we know about him? Any enemies?"

"Well, he's the one who reclaimed the Book of Ga-Huel from Vibaya the Accused, but that was centuries ago. The Janus Order sent Addergoole to Arcadia, in case they needed muscle. He settled down, took a job on the geek squad. His official title was 'sleeper agent.' but honestly? He was as close to retired as a changeling can get. I don't know what enemies he had. Personally?"

The examiner yanked the sheet back, revealing the state of Addergoole's lower half.

_"I don't want to meet them."_

From the chest up, the Ra changeling was perfectly intact, almost lifelike. With the deep grimace on his face, he may have been in the middle of a bad dream.

But from the midriff down, he was nothing more than a picked over carcass. The horror began at his legs. Exposed bones, Greasy and gray, living stone still clinging to the patella like a hideous parody of christmas lights. His pelvis was an empty bowl lined with scraps of exposed tendon, the lower ribs hollow, picked clean of their sweetbreads. At his breastbone, the open wound had been cauterized shut.

“Look, I’m only a bonemender." The examiner explained, "I’m better at putting them back together then saying what killed them, but this one's open and shut.”

"You don't say." Strickler's eyes narrowed as he examined the body, circling it.

"Petechial hemorrhages," The medical examiner shrugged, "Enlarged heart, foam in the trachea..."

Strickler stopped.

"Are you saying Addergoole died of asphyxiation?"

"Exactly." The medical examiner scraped a scalpel over one of the ribs.

The blade came away dripping slime.

"Gruesome secretions. The bone job was post mortem. My guess? Whoever killed him left him exposed, hoping the scavengers would handle it. Something probably interrupted the gruesome's feeding, leaving him half the man he used to be."

"Another gruesome outbreak." Strickler growled, "This is the last thing I need right now."

He pulled the sheet back over the dead changelings face. "I want you to report your findings to Administrator Silver. See that she sends a containment team out. I will inform the Trollhunter."

Strickler caught a glimpse of gruesome slime on his fingers. With a shudder, he wiped his hand on his coat.

"On the bright side, the Trick or Treater's should be okay this week." The medical examiner shrugged, "Gruesomes don't eat humans. So, am I cleared to send Addergoole to the incinerator?"

"No." Strickler paused in the doorway, "On second thought, go ahead. But bring me the ashes when you're finished."

The ride out of the Janus Order was pleasantly silent at first. Strickler had an administrator card that turned off the incessantly cheerful elevator music, and he didn't hesitate to slide it as the doors chimed shut. He and Arch stood on opposite sides of the elevator; Strickler tapping at his cellphone, and the younger changeling rocked back and forth on his heels absently.

"I worked with Addergoole." Arch stated, "It was just a few escort missions, but other than the cannibal-thing, he wasn't that bad."

"I never had the pleasure." Strickler answered.

"You two would've got along." Arch chuckled, "He was into avant-garde art. Bit of a groupie, but he had a ton of stories about studying with Caravaggio. Well, before he framed the guy for murder, at least."

"He was a Caravaggio groupie?"

"Oh, no. He was a Bular Groupie."

Strickler couldn't contain a growl of disgust as Arch continued, "He thought if he brought Bular painting supplies they'd end up as friends. He was convinced those blood scribbles would hang in a museum after the eternal night. Like there's going to be any museums. So..." Arch tugging off his mask, running a hand through his hair, "A gruesome on the loose and a dead changeling. Sounds like a grave situation."

Strickler gave Arch a brief, scathing expression before returning his attention to texting.

"Hey, it wasn't your fault, you know. You're spread really thin. Ceb's Trial, Addergoole, even what happened at the Troll Pub. None of that's your fault." Arch turned the mask over in his hands, "You might've done Trollmarket a favor. Everyone knows the Garden Troll-River Troll feud's been going on for centuries. It'd probably be all out war by now, if the Janus Order hadn't stepped in."

"I lied." Strickler growled, "We didn't attack them to stop the feud, Kanjigar had gone into hiding. To get the amulet we needed to lure him out. Attacking trolls was the quickest way to do that, and the River and Garden trolls were the easiest available target."

"Oh." Arch's face fell. "Yeah, that checks out. Rule Number Three."

"Rule Number Three." Strickler repeated.

"So, are you going to tell James Lake about this?"

"We're changelings, Arch." Strickler pulled out his pen, capping and uncapping it once, "Unlike Trollmarket, we don't need a Trollhunter to solve our problems."

Arch nodded in agreement. "So, what are we going to do?"

"You are going to erase Addergoole's records. As for me,"

The doors chimed open, and Strickler stepped off the elevator.

"I'm going shopping."

An hour or so later, Strickler stepped out of his car. He took one look at the two women arguing outside Bright Tower Books and Novelties and briefly considered turning back.

"You can't put those out on halloween! You're going to traumatize the children!" shouted a tall, reedy looking goth. Her silver hair was pulled back into a messy bun, the stars and moons in her black dress glinting as she waved a finger in the other woman's face.

"Come on, Naddy! They aren't real pig fetuses!" The owner of Bright Tower argued. She was balancing two glass jars on her pregnant belly, each one holding a twitching pickled piglet.

"I know, you're too nice for that," Naddy stated, "But the point stands! If people are scared of your shop, then they'll be scared of mine!" She pointed across the street to another bookstore, this one decorated with dozens of expertly carved Jack-O-Lanterns in orange and white and black. Smiling paper ghosts hung in the windows, and a massive scarecrow stood guard over them. It's face was a blank burlap sack, but there was something in the tilt of its straw hat that suggested friendliness. A contrast to Bright Tower, which was dripping with cobwebs, bats, and caged skeletons. King above the decorations was a massive animatronic spider looming above the dorway. The creature's eight eyes seemed to follow Strickler as he brushed past the women, entering the store.

A mournful, auto-tuned voice crooned over the store's radio, accompanied by melodramatic drum beats and guitars.

**_♪Hunting you, I can smell you, alive, you' heart pounding in my head, watching me, wanting me♪_ **

Strickler rolled his eyes as he grabbed a small shopping basket. A garden statue beside the counter caught his eye and he paused to admire it. The statue was a charmingly grumpy looking resin turtle, dragon-eyed, with a spiny shell the size of a coffee table. He rubbed his chin, briefly imagining it right beside his herb garden.

"Hm. Maybe if it's still there for Christmas." Strickler decided.

His smile faded when he began rummaging through the shelves, searching for magical ingredients. A jar of clarifying salts, four bundles of white smudging sage, and an Ouji Board for a cover story. A cloud of dust rose from the boardgame as he tugged it free of the shelf. Strickler coughed, waving an arm in front of his face.

A small draw-sting bag flopped over, spilling out a handful of dice.

 _Genuine Bone Dice!_ Advertised a faded sticker across the bag. Strickler picked them up without thinking. He gazed down at his palm, shaking the dice so that they clacked together.

A familiar sound.

_**"I don't know how."** _

_**"You don't know how---HOW do you don't know how?" Bular gave his horns a shake, his mane sticking out in all directions. "Every troll knows how to play Knucklebones!"** _

_**Stricklander felt dumb and small, Although it helped a little that Bular was a runt, and his mane made him look dumber. Still, he sulked a bit, tucking his wings over his head.** _

_**"Changelings don't get to play."** _

_**"Well, Father says you're my changeling, so I say you do. Come on!" Bular's teeth were rough as he grabbed Stricklander's scruff. The changeling hissed and wriggled, shouting in protest as the prince dragged him toward the other whelps. It didn't help that Bular was a little smaller than Stricklander. ** _

_**A Redstone colored cub was already tormenting the new Krubera whelp. She pawed at his face, seizing an ear in her teeth to try and pin him.** _

_**"Alama, get off the mosshead!" Bular ordered, "We're going to play knucklebones!"** _

_**"I don't want to play knucklebones with an impure." Alama said, sitting on top of the whimpering krubera.** _

_**"Well this is MY impure, and I say you have to!"** _

Strickler closed his eyes, his hand clenching into a fist around the dice.

"Never yours." He growled to himself, tossing them away.

Strickler turned, carrying his supplies to the counter. He tapped on a service bell, hoping the owner had left someone to mind the counter. When no response came, he hit it twice more, his growl growing louder.

The sound turned into a yelp as the turtle statue moved, putting one sapling-sized limb in front of the other.

Inch by drawn out inch, it made it's way behind the counter. When it reached the cash register, it reared back on it's hind legs, bracing itself with a powerful tail.

Now that he was seeing it closer, Strickler couldn't believe he'd mistaken it for a statue. The scales were too defined, the eyes too bright. It's nostrils flared as it let out a huff, stretching its leathery neck toward him.

Strickler looked at the turtle, then back at the door, then the turtle again.

"Arcadia Oaks." he grumbled, grabbing his wallet. "I don't suppose you have change for a fifty?"

He chuckled to himself, but the turtle didn't seem amused. It's beak closed on the bill, setting it onto the counter. The cash register chimed, and the animal very slowly fished out two tens and four ones.

Once more, Strickler glanced toward the door. But the owner was still talking to the other woman. When he looked back at the turtle, there was a jar of water on the counter.

 _'Full Moon's Rain, Purified. 10$._ ' said the label.

"...well if you recommend it..." Shaking his head, Strickler returned one of the bills to the turtle, and added the rainwater to his shopping bag.

There was a clatter as the turtle brought it's chin down once onto the counter. Then again. It made intense eye contact for a moment, then it's gaze flicked to the left.

Toward a glass jar marked 'Tips.'

Strickler carefully deposited a ten into the jar. As he backed out the door, he saw the turtle give a satisfied nod as it returned to its post beside the counter.

The door to the Nuñez residence was unlocked, exactly as Strickler had ordered.

"Come on in." NotEnrique dropped from where he'd been hanging off the doorknob, "The place is pretty much empty."

"What do you mean by 'pretty much?' Strickler demanded as he stepped into the foyer.

"The kid's napping upstairs. Can we make this quick? He gets cranky if he doesn't get his afternoon snack."

"You're _babysitting_?"

"He's a good kid, little pully when it comes to the ears, but he's hasn't done that in a while."

"You've babysat before!?" Strickler folded his arms, glowering down at the smaller changeling.

"What?" NotEnrique asked defensively, " _What?_ Babysittin's a paying gig! Big Eye's gets fifteen bucks an hour from her mom. She delegates to me, we split the profits 70-30, and I get all the socks I can eat."

"Besides," He added, "The Nuñez kid isn't gonna snitch. Who'd believe a three-year-old?"

Strickler pinched the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth against a snarl.

"I don't have the time to tell you how many regulations you're breaking, but we WILL be discussing this further. Did you get what I asked?"

"Yeah," NotEnrique slid a bandaged hand into his diaper and pulled out what looked like a thread.

"It's _clean!_ " He insisted as Strickler shook his head in disgust.

"You're certain you took one from every member of the household? Pets included?" Strickler took the string, which was actually several strands of hair woven together.

"Yeah, yeah, I made sure." NotEnrique cocked his head to one side, "You already got Tubby and Lake's place?"

"Yes."

"So, uh, what are ya doing exactly?"

Strickler didn't answer. Instead, he pulled a glowing jar out of his jacket. The gold liquid inside flickered as he unpried the lid and dipped his fingers into it.

"Wait," NotEnrique's ear's drooped as Strickler began painting a familiar sigil over the Nuñez threshold. "that's a Geomancer's charm."

Strickler wrapped the hair around a smudge stick, then used a match to set it alight. The sigil began to glow as the smoke wafted over it, magical energies melding like paint to form a seal of protection.

"The only thing you need to concern yourself with is keeping hidden." He stated, "If Councilwoman Nuñez discovers our existence, then you will be the one to report it to Gunmar. In person."

NotEnrique shivered, scratching at his arm.

Strickler's eyes locked onto the bandage. "What happened to your arm?"

"I dunno. Just woke up like that."

"Let me see it."

"Uh, alright..." Sheepishly, NotEnrique offered his arm.

The younger changeling winced in pain, a faint smell of smoke rose from the injury as Strickler unwrapped it.

"It looks worse than it is." Not Enrique explained, "Claire got this medicine from the old goat man. Smells like taint moss, but it does the trick."

Strickler examined the wound closely. Four round, deep burn marks, each the size of a dime. Flanked by two larger ones, slightly slanted. Teeth marks. Wordlessly, he pulled a clean bandage out of his jacket lining, the one he used to secure his arm when it gave out. NotEnrique blinked in surprise as Strickler rewrapped his wound.

"You feelin' alright, Boss?"

"You said you woke up with the burn." Strickler tied off the bandage. "Did you remember any nightmares?"

"You're wierding me out a bit with the touchy-feely, boss." NotEnrqiue backed away, holding his head low.

The doorbell rang, and his ears pricked up. After a split second, it rang twice more, one chime right after the other.

"We're good, That's the signal." He told Strickler, climbing the doorframe to unlock it.

An instant later, it swung open.

"Can you BELIEVE that ending?" Jim laughed as Claire tugged him through the doorway.

"Aliens," Claire shook her head in disbelief, "They're bringing aliens into the Danger House canon."

She handed a mostly full bucket of nacho-cheese covered popcorn to NotEnrique without looking.

"And they want us to believe the aliens were a part of it the whole time!" Jim lifted his hands into the air with the sort of outraged exasperation that only teenagers were allowed to express, "The next one will probably be worse."

"Yeah, but we'll still see it when it comes out." Claire caught one of his hands, smiling as their fingers twined.

"Yeah." Jim smiled back.

"Ey, sis." NotEnrique gave Claire's shirt a tug. "Turn down the PDA, we got a gues---"

He turned to gesture toward Strickler, only to find himself pointing to an empty foyer. Faintly, his sensitive ears picked up the sound of the back door being carefully shut.

"Uh, Nevermind."

Aaarrrgghh, Jim, and now NotEnrique.

There had to be a connection.

Strickler growled to himself. Letting out a breath, he lifted his head, staring out the windshield.

Dark clouds were gathering behind behind the Arcadia Oak's Museum, Lightning guttering beneath them.

Strickler managed to make it inside before the rain began to fall. He wasn't worried about being caught. The Museum no longer had the budget to keep a guard staffed overnight. There was a brief boom in business when the Killahead Bridge officially went on exhibit, but most people found it off-putting.

Just an ugly example of Merovingian Architecture.

Strickler lowered his eyes as he approached the bridge. There were something profoundly wrong about the sight of it gathering dust behind velvet ropes. Something tragic, like watching a tiger pace in a too-small cage.

He pressed his palm against the cool stone, tracing an etching of an outstretched claw. This piece of the bridge came from Germany. In 1920, A changeling named Noiallan had delivered it to Strickler in person. He was a professor, and greeted Strickler with a warm handshake. Noiallan was far more cheerful than a changeling had any right to be. Before he left, He gave Strickler a bottle of fine cognac and insisted that the two of them should split it over stories of academia once Gunmar was free. At the time, Strickler had forced a thin smile and made a mental note to have the bottle checked for poison. He'd sent him away with a promise that they'd toast the fall of private education after the bridge was complete.

He had every intention of cancelling the meeting, but Noiallan died at Kanjigar's hand less than a year later.

Strickler rested his forehead against the bridge as a boom of thunder shook the museum. Noiallan wasn't the last to die for Killahead. There had been dozens of pieces to gather and thousands of changelings dedicated to finding them. Bular hadn't thought twice about trading their lives for the fragments. And Strickler allowed it.

For the greater good, he'd said. For the glory of all changelings.

And now, the culmination of their sacrifices stood completed. But without the war, it was no longer a monument to Gunmar. It was a memorial. A cold reminder, of just how expendable his kind really were.

The dark and quiet closed in on Strickler as he sat down in front of the bridge. Vendel had told him to worry about the living, and that was his concern. The idea of dealing with Bular's spirit was terrifying. But the possibility that he might be alive was even more so.

Bular's death was the only reason Strickler held the power he did today. Gunmar would never have cast the soulmate spell if his son were alive to succeed him.

But he had cast it, and somehow it brought them together.

Gunmar still struck him, and Strickler still referred to him with thinly veiled contempt, but they had their moments. Awkward smiles over dinner, eyes rolling at wordplay jokes, the shifting of bodies as they drew closer to each other against the cold.

Rare but powerful moments, degrees of influence he'd never dreamt of wielding.

As of now, Strickler was Queen, and held Gunmar's favor, But Bular's return would end that in an instant.

Strickler shivered.

He'd graded enough history papers to know how these things worked out.

Berenice III.

Catherine Howard.

Blanche of Bourbon.

No need for a queen, as long as there was a prince.

A text alert chimed drew Strickler from his thoughts.

**Sunday, October 28, PM**

  * **9:15: Y. Atlas <\- just finished patrol, no sign of gruesomes. TP wants 2 know if you have sparknotes for Dante's Orange.**
  * **9:16: Y. Atlas <-*inferno. Ducking autocorrect. **



Normally, something like that would make Strickler smile, but his expression was as cold as his hands as he typed a reply. 

  * **No need for fowl language, Young Atlas. Thank you for checking. As for the Divine Comedy, Ms. Pinkton?**



**Sunday, October 28, PM**

  * **9:21: Y. Atlas <\- Ms. Pinkton. >_< **



Strickler wasn't surprised at that.

  * **She assigns it every year. She'll be expecting a creative writing exercise on one of the nine circles.**



Jim's response was almost instant.

**Sunday, October 28, PM**

  * **9:22: Y. Atlas <\- If u stab me through the leg do u think I'd get out of class for a week? （；￣д￣）**



Strickler did smile then, just a little.

  * **The pen is mightier than the sword. I can share a few notes with you, For a price.**



**Sunday, October 28, PM**

**9:23: Y. Atlas <\- Nana Domalski's cookies?**

  * **Make it a baker's dozen and I'll bring my author's copy**



**Sunday, October 28, PM**

**9:24 : Y. Atlas <\- Deal. Everything else ok?**

Strickler pressed his lips together, staring at the message. His thumbs moved quickly as he typed out a lie.

  * **There's nothing to worry about. Except for your grades.**.



He put his phone away without waiting for a response. The Trollhunter had already dealt with Bular once, and once was too many for a human child.

Jim didn't need to know. Not Jim, and certainly not Gunmar.

Strickler rose to his feet. A flash of lightning briefly lit the room, and for just an instant, it looked as if every eye carved into the bridge was focused on him. Loathing. Judging.

Strickler ignored them. If Bular's spirit wandered, he would find a way to put it to rest. And if the Dark Prince was alive...

Strickler would need to find a way to _remedy_ that.


	18. Smoke and Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler run's into a familiar face when Halloween comes to Arcadia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being way too long, but I promise, next one will finish this storyline.

The Lake House was a warm respite against the foggy night outside, brightly lit and filled with the smells of baking.

Inside, a changeling sat at the counter, gouging out a face.

Strickler's lips were set in a razor-thin line; his green eyes narrowed and focused. With an assassin's precision, he He pushed the blade forward and the flesh beneath gave way. 

The second eye fell loose, plopping onto the countertop in a perfect crescent. 

"That Jack-o-lantern's actually not bad." Jim said, setting down a pan of roast pumpkin seeds.

"I spent quite some time practicing on turnips." Strickler accepted a cup of tea from him, "Pumpkin's are a much easier medium for carving."

"I don't know, it looks kinda creepy." Toby squinted at the jack-o-lantern's jagged grin.

"You think a pumpkin's creepy." Jim stated, "But you're taking Darci to Scream Acres on Halloween Night? Isn't that like, one of the top ten scariest haunts in the area?"

Toby grinned in response. 

"Actually, Scream Acres is seven haunts rolled into one. There's the Barn, the Cornfield, The Slaughterhouse, The Homestead, the Orchard," He counted them off on his fingers, "A couple others, but either way, it's five hours of unrelenting, pants-wetting terror!"

"Tobes, you _hate_ haunts." 

"Yeah, but Darci loves them." Toby smirked, "And I love how Darci grabs onto me when she's scared. It's worth it, Jimbo! She gets a fantastic date night, and I get to be a fanastic date knight."

Jim and Strickler stared at him with matching confusion.

"You know, date knight? Knight in shining armor...? Whatever. Let's start studying." 

"That might just be the first good idea you've had this month." Strickler lifted his travel bag, fishing out three copies of _Dante's Inferno_ and passing them out.

"So." The changeling pushed the pumpkin away and propped his elbows onto the counter, "You said you had a question, Tobias?" 

Toby grabbed a handful of pumpkin seeds before turning to one of the earlier chapters.

"Okay, so this is pretty straightforward." he said with his mouth full, "Dante's taking a tour of Hell, he sees dead people." 

Toby smacked the back of his hand against a page.

"But this part I don't get." 

"It's a forteenth century epic allegory about the judeo-christian concept of divine judgement. What's not to get? " Jim pulled up a chair beside Toby and cracked open his copy of the book.

Strickler smiled behind the rim of his teacup. He wanted to give the boys a chance to figure out the problem on their own before he jumped in.

"So, the first circle's not so bad," Toby explained, "but the whole point of the other rings is to punish evil people from history." 

"Right." Jim answered.

"So why's Helen in the sex circle?" 

Strickler choked on his tea.

"Wait, I'm still trying to figure out the third circle." Jim flipped through the pages, "Who's Helen?"

"Jimbo, we just learned this!" Toby turned the book toward him, pointing to a line, "The Sex Circle comes before the Foodie Circle, and for some reason Helen of Troy's there."

"Uh..." Jim looked completely lost.

Strickler's outrage managed to break through his shock.

"Yong Atlas, you have an essay on the Trojan War due in three weeks. How do you not know who Helen of Troy is?" 

"Yeah, Jimbo. She's in the sex circle!"

"Toby," Strickler sighed, "Will you please stop referring to it as a 'sex circle?'" 

"Wait, What are we talking about?" Barbara asked, shutting the front behind her.

"Hey, Mom."

"Welcome home, Doctor L!"

Barbara crossed the room, shrugging off her jacket.

" _Dante's Inferno?_ " she asked, picking up the book and flipping through it. 

"Yeah," Jim gave her a one-armed hug. "Mr. Strickler was helping us get a head start in Ms. Pinkton's class."

"Toby had some questions about what Dante witnessed in the second circle." Strickler added.

"I'm just saying," Toby slammed the book shut, pushing it away, "Doesn't seem fair to throw a kidnapping victim in there. What's with that?"

"Do you want the long explanation, which involves an in-depth contrast between Sappho and Herodutus' interpretations of Helen's abduction; or the short answer?"

"Short answer." Toby and Jim said in unison.

Strickler lifted his teacup to toast their sentiment.

"Long story short; Patriarchy."

A timer went off in the kitchen and Barbara swayed on her feet. 

"Right, Dinner." She said, grabbing the banister for balance. "Give me ten minutes, Walt, then I'll be ready for our date."

Barbara turned her face away, but Strickler caught her pressing a hand to her mouth to surpress a yawn.

"Do you need help, mom?" Jim rose from behind the counter.

"You know, I could really go for one of your cinnamon espressos, if you're headed toward the kitchen."

"Yeah, sure. I was just about to take the cookies out."

"You really are the best, Kiddo. Why don't you order some pizza? A little brain food to help you---" Barbara stopped midsentence, and this time she wasn't able to hide her yawn.

"Ten minutes." She repeated, giving Strickler an apologetic smile.

"You know," Strickler stated, "If you aren't up for going out, we could spend the evening in." 

"No, no. I'm..." Barbara paused, "You've been wanting to try this fancy Greek place for weeks. You made reservations."

"I can make them again." He walked over to the banister, leaning over so she could see for herself that he wasn't upset.

Guilt flickered across Barbara's face, and Strickler felt an overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and keep her there until he'd convinced her that she deserved to be treated nicely.

"Do you think there's room on one of those pizzas for pineapple and olives?" he asked, quirking his eyebrows playfully.

"Walt, are you sure you don't mind?"

"Barbara, if I ever say 'no' to pizza and a movie with the most charming woman in Arcadia, then I'm not myself." 

A girlish blush colored her cheeks, and Strickler propped his chin on the railing to admire her.

"I'll be down in a minute." Barbara said, climbing the rest of the stairs.

He smirked a little at the spring in her step.

When Strickler turned back, Jim and Toby were staring at him with twin expressions of revulsion.

"We have been dating for two years!" he growled. 

"It's not that." Toby grimaced.

"Olives and pineapple. " Jim shook his head in disgust. "How did it take us so long to figure out you weren't human?" 

After dinner, Toby and Jim retreated upstairs, mostly so the Trollhunter wouldn't have to watch his mother and teacher canoodling on the couch.

Alone at last, Strickler watched Barbara closely; keeping an eye out for tell-tale signs of a lowered guard.

He didn't have to wait long. She looked down just long enough to type out a text.

Head bowed, a lock of hair falling free of the messy bun behind her head.

The Trollhunter wasn't there to stop him, and Barbara was only human.

She never stood a chance.

Strickler's hands moved as quickly as a hawk's talons; closing over the nape of her neck. 

The Trollhunter's mother froze, the phone slipping from her hand.

Then she closed her eyes and melted.

"Walt..."

"No arguing. You worked late, and I don't mind doing it."

He pressed his thumbs to the sore muscles at the base of her skull, working the tension out in circular strokes.

"Now," Strickler stated, "Why don't you tell me how your day went?"

Barbara leaned back, turning her head to kiss his cheek. 

"I want to hear about yours." she replied.

"Mine?" 

"Mhm. That's the deal. You rub, I listen, then we swap." 

Strickler chuckled at the matter-of-fact way she said it.

"Yes, Ma'am." He slid his fingers down, focusing on a knot in her shoulders.

"Well, this morning..."

Strickler couldn't actually tell her that he'd spent the morning checking Bular's lairs for signs of habitation. He couldn't say anything about the vespa warehouse, or the drainage tunnel where he'd once summoned a stalking.

"I started the day with a visit to the museum. Zelda gets so wrapped up this time of year, she forgets to eat. So I thought I'd see if she wanted to grab breakfast."   
Nomura had greeted him at the bridge. She hadn't asked any questions when he demanded access to the secret tunnels beneath the museum.

"Do you know if she's doing anything for Thanksgiving?"

"Hm?" Strickler frowned, his train of thought derailed by the question.

"Ms. Nomura." Barbara clarified. "She's practically family to you, so I was thinking that if she's alone, maybe we could invite her to eat with us this year."

"I'll...that's very kind of you, I'll be sure to ask. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to speak with her this morning. Zelda was in a meeting with Professor Lempke." 

"Is he still giving her trouble?"

"Lempke has a long history with the museum. Donations, mostly. He thinks that puts him at an advantage. Zelda is quite content to let him think that."

"I've got a pretty good right hook if she needs back-up. Anything else?"

_There had been no sign of Bular beneath Arcadia Oaks. No fresh carcasses, no spoor or footprints. The only trace that he'd ever been were a series of long white lines on the side of the tunnels, so faded that they were nearly invisible._

_Scrapes, from where Bular had sharpened his horns._

"Oh, the museum was really the most interesting." Strickler shrugged, "With the science fair and dance falling on the same day, it's been more paperwork than footwork for me."

"So, that's it?" 

"That's it."

"Alright, then." Barbara pulled away from him. "Your turn."

Reluctantly, he switched places with her, trying to concentrate on the television.

His throat felt very dry as she lifted her hands to his neck. 

He told himself he was being unreasonable. It was only stress, or his newly sharpened instincts playing on his nerves.

But that wasn't it.

Visting the museum had brought back memories.

**_"YOU SAID THE AMULET WOULD OPEN THE BRIDGE!"_ **

**_"Bular, I know what we need!"_ **

**_He was dying._ **

**_Strickler knew that this time, Bular wouldn't let go. He'd crush the life out of him for his failures. His lungs burned and he was never going to breathe again unless---_ **

**_"The Trollhunter! The amulet won't work without him, he is the key!"_ **

"Walt, you're shivering."

Barbara's hand felt cool against his forehead. 

"I think you might be coming down with something. You have a fever." 

"N-no, no. Probably just a reaction from my flu shot. I'm fine, I---"

Strickler stopped mid-sentence.

Why was he lying to her?

Was it really such an automatic response?

He'd been thinking about proposing for a while. If he was going to find the courage, then he needed to start being honest with himself.

With both of them.

"Actually, no." He turned to Barbara, holding her hand between his. "You see, the truth is...Well, it's just..."

"Do you not like having your neck touched?"

Her knowing startled him, almost as much as the gentle understanding in her voice.

"Walter, does it have something to do with your scars?"

Strickler's hand automatically went to his throat, checking to see that his turtleneck was in place.

He examined his sleeves, but the cuffs rested neatly over his wrists. 

Nothing was exposed, so how did she...

"I know you didn't want me to see them. You always turn the lights out when we go to bed together." 

Barbara took his hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. 

'"It was a few weeks before you left. I got a text message. You were spending the night, and I turned the brightness down, but there was light enough for me to see."

"How _much_ did you see?"

"Your chest and shoulders. There were a few on your hips but I already knew about those ones."

"You did?" Strickler blinked in surprise.

Barbara gave him a look. "Walter, I could _feel_ them."

He fell silent, staring at the television as if the climax of Danger House held some deep revelation that would help him find the right words.

On the flatscreen, a forty-year-old actress playing a teenager stumbled while fleeing a masked killer. In the background, her answering machine screamed a warning.

_"The danger is coming from inside the house!"_

The screen went dark, and Barbara set the remote aside.

"Do you remember a few years ago, when we first met?" she asked.

"As if I could forget." 

"You were there for us, when Jim and I were struggling." Barbara moved closer. "I told you a little about what was going on, but not the worst of it."

Strickler didn't want to hear this. 

"Jim wasn't just staying out late, he was coming home with bruises and sprains."

He didn't want her confidence.

"One night he went missing. Javier Nunez found him passed out in the woods, covered in cuts."

Her compassion.

"When Jim woke up, he tried to lie about how he was hurt." 

Strickler needed to leave. He needed to leave right now, before she said something that broke the last frayed razor-wire nerve that was keeping him from snapping.

"So I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Jim. Whatever's going on, whatever it is your afraid to tell me..."

Strickler managed to lean forward. But before he could stand, she brought her hands to his shoulders, and they felt so much heavier than Gunmar's.

"Walt, you can trust me."

It wasn't the words that broke him. It was her sincerity.

And the weight of the past month came crashing down.

The Inlustris Callis. The pumpkin patch. The Grit Shaka. Ceban, Archeuro, Addergoole. Tobias sneaking into the Darklands. Gunmar's corruption. Jim's regret. 

Strickler buried his face in his hands, curling in on himself. He wanted his wings, he wanted to wrap himself in them the way he did before the changeling magic forced him to store them away.

Barbara rubbed his back, moving her palm in a circle between his shoulder blades.

Right where his wings should be. 

He shuddered; as violently as if he'd been stabbed. His thoughts were frantic and hurt, like a caged bird battering itself to pieces behind his eyes.

She wouldn't She wouldn't if she knew the thing's he'd done to her to humanity to her son if she knew who-what he truly was

  
 _You are having a panic attack_. The rational part of Strickler's mind spoke calmly, it's voice prim and human. To be fair, _you're overdue for one this century._

 _You betray everyone who trusts you! You're never going to make things right!_ howled the other part, and it's scream was in trollish.

"Come here," Barbara tugged on his shoulder, pulling him until he was leaning against her, tucking his face to the crook of her neck.

"I'm fine." Strickler said hoarsely, "I swear, I don't usually---"

"It's alright, I've got you." she tucked her chin over his hair, holding him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He didn't cry. His eyes ached, but he managed to keep them dry, and for that he was gratful. 

"I could tell you haven't been feeling like yourself, Walt."

He laughed at that, a sharp sound that was almost a bark.

"Barbara, I don't think I've ever felt like myself." 

Barbara sighed.

"Walter," She asked quietly, "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"I wouldn't have the slightest idea where to begin." 

"Start with one thing. What's one thing you're afraid to tell me."

_I lied to you from the beginning._

_I'm over a thousand years old._

_I'm actually a shape-changing Troll._

_I'm married._

"I'm transgender, Barbara."

Strickler felt her limbs stiffen.

He drew back, looking away as Barbara covered her mouth.

"Walt, I'm---That's..."

Abruptly, her hands dropped, grabbing a spritz bottle and polishing cloth from the sidetable. 

She took her glasses off, cleaning them in a nervous gesture he recognized. 

"So," She said slowly, "How long have you known?"

"Most of my life." 

"Wow. That's..." Barbara placed her glasses back, blowing a stand of hair away from her face.

Strickler looked away, preparing himself for her reaction.

"That's going to take some getting used to." she admitted.

Strickler folded his hands in his lap, tapping his thumbs together as Barbara cleared her throat, trying to break the silence that had fallen between them. 

"I have a card." she said after a moment, "Doctor Laghari, I went to school with him. If you feel like you're ready hormones, or surgery, then he's the best, and he'll talk you through everything." 

Strickler glanced up at her, too bewildered to respond.

"That's not to say you have to change anything," 

"Barbara," He tried to cut in.

"I'm just letting you know you have options."

"Barbara."

"You know, this means we could go dress shopping together." She smiled, "That's fun, right? There's this great boutique, over by---"

Strickler leaned across the couch and kissed her. 

"I've already transitioned." He explained, lifting a hand to his collarbone. "This is me."

"Oh. Well, that answers my other question" 

"We should talk about this more, when we're both less tired." Strickler suggested, rising from the couch. "I can leave, if you want time alone to think."

"Hey, Walt?"

"Yes?"

"Danger House 2 is coming on, if you want to stay a little longer."

Strickler was pretty sure that 'a little longer' was only meant to last till the end of the movie. But he closed his eyes in the middle of kill scene and when he opened them again, daylight was pouring in through the windows.

The changeling grimaced. His arm was numb, and he wiggled his shoulder to try and find it.

"Fivemoremins..." Barbara mumbled in protest.

He stilled, his breath catching as he remembered the conversation they'd had the night before.

Barbara curled closer to him, her head a warm weight above his heart.

After a moment, the tension left him. 

Strickler smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair. 

"Barbara, can I have my arm back for a minute?"

"Mm, What time is it?" 

"Judging by the sun, I'd say around seven."

Barbara stretched and sighed, glancing at her phone.

"Seven-fourteen. Impressive." 

"Please, hold your applause until after I've made breakfast."

Strickler stretched and groaned as a stiff muscle popped in his back. 

"Are you feeling any better?" Barbara asked, offering a hand to help him to his feet.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept that from you."

"No, you shouldn't have." a smile softened the words, "and your apology is accepted. Coffee?"

"Coffee sounds good. Frittatas?" 

"Sounds good!" 

Strickler followed her into the kitchen, digging a carton of eggs out of the fridge.

He paused, turning to remind her that he only drank decaf. 

She smiled in response, leaning against the cupboard with a bag of light roast in hand.

"Got you covered, Walt."

He stalled for as long as possible after breakfast; refilling Barbara's cup, offering to cook seconds, and even washing the dishes by hand rather than loading them into the dishwasher.

Barbara seemed to notice.

"My shift doesn't start till noon, if you want to stay and talk more." she stated.

"I want to." Strickler sighed, "Really. but there's some museum work I need to wrap up before tomorrow."

"Museum work, on top of the things you're doing for the school?" she reached past him, shutting off the sink. "And you're always warning Jim about spreading himself too thin!" 

Strickler turned to pour himself another cup of coffee. "On the bright side, everything should be over with by tomorrow night."

Barbara touched his wrist, pressing her palm over an old scar.

"We're going to talk more about this." She told him. 

"Barbara, I'll explain everything soon, I promise. There's just...so much to unpack."

"Everyone has baggage, Walt." She kissed his hand. "One thing at a time." 

One thing at a time.

Somehow, he felt like he could manage that, just as long as he survived Halloween.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Left, Left, right.

Another left.

A double fisted blow, blades pressed together.

Strickler tried to focus on Bular. On his tactics, his maneuvers, which side he favored while trying to strike down Draal.

He tried to concentrate on the Gumm-Gum Prince, and not look at the battle going on in the lower left corner of the screen.

_**"I'll give you an A for effort," Stricklander growled, "But you're going to fail this exam!"** _

The Janus Order used only the best equipment, and the security footage perfectly captured his sneer, his dilated pupils.

The larger than life image of himself, bringing a sword down on the Trollhunter in high definition.

Bular, focus on Bular.

He preferred his left hand, meaning his right side would be slightly weaker.

If Strickler managed to climb onto his back, he might have a chance if he slipped a blade between Bular's ribs. A single, upward stab to collapse the lung. 

It wouldn't kill him, but it might slow him down enough for a strike across the throat. A quick drag of the blade beneath his chin, where the jaw muscles were soft and armorless.

Strickler grimaced, setting aside a stack of files. Of course, this was all based on the presumption that Bular didn't reach back and tear off his arms first.

_**"Son!"** _

Strickler was startled by the sound of Gunmar's voice. He'd reviewed the footage a hundred times, but this was the first he heard the Skullcrusher calling for his heir.

_**"Father!!!"** _

Gunmar never talked about Bular, not in the months they'd spent together. 

He never asked about his remains, or if he'd suffered, which only proved Strickler's suspicions.

Bular was an underling. Just another troll for Gunmar to use and forget, once the battle had ended. 

Gunmar didn't care about his son. He only cared for his means of escape.

_Gunmar didn't care for Bular._

At least that's what Strickler told himself.

**Gunmar didn't care, and nevermind what he'd seen when---**

The door to the orientation room wooshed open, and Archuero stepped in; juggling a few clipboards and a coffee tray.

"So I delivered the books on Gumm-Gumm etiquette to Toby." He announced, "If he studies hard enough, he might just survive his meeting with Gunmar. Speaking of meetings, your teleconfernce with the Shanghai Branch has been moved to Friday, and your dentist appointment on Friday's been rescheduled for Saturday."

Archuero examined one of the clipboards, flipping to the second page.

"Also, the planetarium's roof has a leak, so the science fair's been moved to the gym. Not sure how they're gonna clear that out before the fundraiser, but anyway, you're probably going to need some caffeine. I brought you coffee. One venti vanilla latte, two squirts almond syrup, two squirts irish cream, splash of soy. Extra foam."

He came to a stop.

"Am I a joke to you?" The younger changeling looked genuinely hurt by the sight of the thermos in Strickler's hand.

"She doesn't drink decaf, and I didn't want the pot to go to waste." Strickler took the clipboard from his assistant, "Leave it over there, one of the goblins will drink it."

Archuero nodded glumly. He didn't need to ask who 'she' referred to.

"Wait, Is that security footage from the museum?" Archeuro set the tray down, staring at the projection, "That's the Battle of Two Bridges, isn't it? That's classified. That's... _really classified."_

The younger changeling tried not to sound too excited, but he failed miserably.

Strickler sighed and re-wound the footage.

"Sit down. If you laugh, I'm kicking you out."

"Why would I laugh?" Archeuro pulled up a folding chair; watching with interest as Bular and Draal clashed onscreen.

Strickler sighed again at the sound of his own voice cackling down at them. 

**_"Toby Domzalski, you are in waaaay over your---"_**

A resounding thunk, followed by a keening whimper.

Archeuro winced, clamping his knees together in sympathy.

"No laughing here, boss." He stated. 

Archuero stayed beside Strickler during his sixth viewing of the footage, and the seventh.

He left the room during the tenth, but only long enough to retrieve a few sandwiches from the vending machine.   
He offered one to the older changeling and without a word, Strickler accepted. He and Archuero ate in a surprisingly comfortable silence, watching the Killahead Bridge fall.

_**"Cowards, come and face your end!"** _

Strickler paused the footage, examining the Janus Order's last image of Bular. 

The Gumm-Gumm prince seemed no worse for wear, even after taking on both Arrrgghh and Draal.

But less than an hour later, Strickler would find the gravel of his remains on the overpass above the canals. 

"It's..."

Archeuro cleared his throat.

"It's strange, isn't it? Don't get me wrong, Bular sucked, but he was still... He'd been a part of the Janus Order for as long as there was a Janus Order. Unkar, Deya, Kanjigar, the Trollhunters kept coming, and he just kept defeating them. I guess some of us thought he was invincible, like his father."

The younger changeling shook his head. 

"He was a glorkhole, but he was on our side, y'know? It's kind of quiet now that he's gone."

Strickler grabbed the file's he'd set aside, handing them to Archeuro as he headed out the door. 

"I'm going to the school for one last stage check before the haunt tomorrow. I want you to review these files, then you can take the rest of the day off."

Archuero opened a few of the folders, skimming the titles.

"Myrtilus, decapitation. Anaxibia, strangulation. Lorellas, broken neck---these are all dead changelings."

"Do you see that red asterisk beside the names? That's a note from the coroner. It means the remains won't be intact, because they were recovered from Bular's lair. He was never on our side, Archeuro"

Archuero gripped the files tightly, but his expression was unphased.

"So, You think he got what he deserved?

Strickler's eyes glowed as he thought about a rough troll whelp, all coltish energy and raised hackles. A rough troll whelp surrounded by toys and practice weapons, but ignoring them all in favor of his's father's newest present. 

_**"What's your name?"** _

_**"Stricklander..."** _

_**"That's too long, but okay! Wanna play a game?"** _

"Yes. Bular got what he deserved."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strickler didn't sleep well that night, and the next morning, he was dressed and ready for school before his alarm went off.

October 31st. Samhain.

Arcadia Oaks High was vibrant with orange and black; students buzzing with anticipation. Some of them pretended not to be impressed by the outdoor decorations for the dance, while others nudged each other and rolled their eyes at the haunted maze in the gym, declaring the entire event 'lame.'

Ms. Janeth approached Strickler in the hallway, looking very pleased as she shoved an envelope into his hands.

"What's this?" He decided not mention that her witches hat was against the school's dress code.

"That, Walter, is the final tally from ticket sales. The drama department has completely sold out of haunt tickets, and the art department's reporting record sales for the dance!" 

"We shouldn't be surprised." He opened the envelope, thumbing through wrinkled bills and ticket slips. "The students have been working hard."

"Surprised? Try mystified! How did you get Jim Lake to show up for rehearsals?" 

"Mr. Lake and I have an understanding with each other." Strickler explained, "He's actually a very gifted student, given the proper guidance."

"His algebra grade would beg to differ." 

Strickler smiled, tucking the envelope into his front pocket and drawing out his pen.

"Speaking of grades, I was wondering if you have a moment to discuss your extra credit policy."

Ms. Janeth folded her arms.

"I give credit where credit is due." She retorted.

"I know, and you're doing an excellent job."

Strickler clicked his pen, keeping a warm smile as he spoke.

"I also know that you put in a request to the faculty committee for a few renovations to the teacher's lounge."

Ms. Janeth frowned.

"I don't see what a faulty coffee-maker has to do with Mr. Lake's grade

"It's not just the coffee maker." Strickler stated, "The refrigerator was a relic in the eighties. I think we're overdue for an upgrade. Think of how useful the freezerspace could be especially for faculty members who have resorted to carrying around coolers for their frozen dinners."

Her frown deepened, and Ms. Janeth glanced down.

"Don't misunderstand, I've already approved the renovations. Just keep in mind, our faculty budget get's a bonus for each full, graduating class. Right now, Jim is the only student who won't be allowed to walk during commencement."

Strickler shook his head, capping and uncapping his pen.

"I'm not asking you to change anyone's grade, Lenora. Just give him a second chance to earn it." 

Ms. Janeth looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I'll take that into consideration." She agreed finally, "But only if he earns it."

The bell rang, and Ms. Janeth brushed past Strickler. 

"Speaking of earning it, have fun with the science fair!"

"Right." Strickler muttered. _"Fun."_

He didn't think it was possible, but somehow the science fair projects were even less inspired than the year every single student brought in a baking soda volcano.

Strickler went to the first table, peering down at a paintbucket filled with a dubious green liquid.

"Tell me a little about your project, Ms. Wang."

Mary Wang glanced up briefly from her phone.

"I decided to do chemistry." She said, popping her gum, "I made slime."

"I see." Strickler tapped the liquid with his pen. "And how did you accomplish this impressive feat?"

"Elmer's Glue, Baking Soda, Food coloring. Stuff." Mary shrugged, "I made a display board, but the slime was really heavy, so I couldn't carry them both. Hey, are we allowed to dress up for the dance tonight?"

"Costumes will be permitted," Strickler replied, writing down a few notes, "But the dress code will be strictly enforced."

"Laaaame." Mary returned her attention to texting.

Strickler briefly examined a shoebox with a few broccoli stalks and toy dinosaurs glued to the bottom. The student swore up and down that it was a paleontology project, and absolutely not a last minute thing because they forgot about the science fair.

He passed three baking soda volcanos, and a potato battery.

Steve and Eli stood in front of the next project, a colorful display board set up behind them, both grinning, both holding super soakers. 

With great reluctance, Strickler approached them.

"Working together, I see. Tell me a bit about your project."

"It's engineering!" Eli declared, beaming with pride.

"Epic engineering!" Steve added, "We call it---"

The two of them turned, revealing gallon containers jerry-rigged to straps on their backs.

"--The H-2-GO!"

"Against my better judgement, I'm intrigued." Strickler responded.

"The H2GO is five gallons of portable refreshment!" Eli said, "The leak-free tube works as a straw on the go, making it ideal for marathons!"

"And, the tube hooks up to a water soaker!" Steve cocked his plastic weapon and turned on Eli, knocking him off his feet with a powerful jet of water. "Perfect if your hiking buddy needs hydration!"

Strickler wrote something on the clipboard.

"Very interesting. I'll give you points for creativity. Steve, go grab Eli a towel from the locker room, unless you want Saturday detention."

"Uh, sure thing, Mr. Strickler." Steve ran off, waddling a bit from the weight of the container sloshing on his back.

Eli wiggled, trapped turtle-like on his back.

Strickler pulled him to his feet.

"Thanks, Mr. Strickler." Eli smiled gratefully.

He glanced around, then leaned in closer.

"Still no signs of the Freeper." Eli whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "But I may have a lead on the billykragel."

"Not here." Strickler replied, "The walls have ears. Meet me after class on Friday, we'll go over the evidence together. Elijah, I promise we're going to figure out what's happening here."

Eli nodded, hugging his super-soaker to his chest.

"Thanks." He said again, looking up at him with adoration.

Strickler returned the smile, but it vanished as soon as he turned toward the next project.

He winced, pushing back at a brief flare of guilt. He didn't _want_ to manipulate another student, but he had no choice. 

Eli had to be convinced that he hadn't seen a troll, for his own safety.

Strickler straightened, approaching the last project.

Jim and Toby seemed to be struggling with something.

"What were you thinking, Just put it away!"

"How was I supposed to know he was judging the science fair!"

"Mr. Lake, Mr. Domzalski." Strickler smiled, admiring an elaborate display of Toby's rock collection. "Digging up some information on geology?"

"Right!" Jim quickly stood in front of his friend, trying to shield him from view, "We actually did our project on tectonic shift, and how minerals helped build Arcadia."

"Foooooooor example!" Toby said, sticking his hands in his pockets, "did you know Arcadia used to be a mining town called 'Rancho Arcadia?'

"I did, actually. I was there." Strickler tapped his pen against the clipboard, "Now why don't you empty your pockets, Mr. Domzalski?"

"What? It's nothing!" Toby protested, tuning his pockets inside out, "Just some gumballs, an eraser, a rock..."

Strickler grabbed Toby's wrist, taking a closer look the rock.

"Is that Bular's finger!?"

"What? Nooooo..." 

Jim and Toby exchanged looks.

"At least not all of it."

"Detention," Strickler growled, "For both of you."

"What Why?"

"For violating the Geneva Conventions."

Toby looked crestfallen, "But it's Halloween! I have a date tonight!"

"Fair enough. Make it a weekend detention, oh, and Jim?"

"What?" The Trollhunter snapped, ready to argue.

"Keep up the good work. B+"

The school day ended with little fanfare. Toby and Darci left hand in hand the moment the bell rang, and Jim and Claire slipped into Ms. Janeth's room to get into costume with the rest of the haunt actors.

The science exhibits were pushed to one side; making room for a line to the haunt. 

Outside, the courtyard was was lit by the ominious glow of purple and orange spotlights, adding ambiance to the cobweb-covered DJ booth and a snack table decorated with plastic skulls and jack-o-lanterns. 

"Groups of three, now." Strickler instructed, directing the highschoolers as they entered the haunt, "No masks, no costume weapons, no touching the actors."

"This looks so dumb." One of the students snorted. 

"Watch yourself, Seamus." Strickler said, offering him a smile, "Some say 'to be haunted is to glimpse a truth that would be better off hidden.'"

He gestured with one hand as he spoke, drawing Seamus Johnson's attention away from the dark figure creeping up behind him.

"The Line!" The Trollhunter shouted, leaping out of the shadows.

Seamus recoiled at the costume effects on Jim's face. The red light of the eclipse armor gave the rubber wounds a raw, infected look.

"Keep to the line, or you'll end up like--"

Steve roared, his plastic mandibles closing on Jim's neck. LED lights in the mask flickered as he dragged him kicking and groaning back into the maze.

Seamus balked while his friends laughed and shoved him toward the entrance.

"Enjoy yourselves!" Strickler called out, leaving to check on the dance.

  
A few hours passed and as the sun began to set over Arcadia, Halloween began in earnest.

Strickler smiled down at his phone, chuckling at a picture Barbara had sent him of a trick-or-treater dressed as a taco. His watch beeped, signalling the end of his break.

"Alright, everyone. Places!" He shooed the actors out of Coach Lawrence office, pausing to swipe a pumpkin cookie off the snack table.

"Has anyone seen Jim?" He asked, noticing the trollhunter missing from the group.

One of the drama students pointed toward the door, and Strickler stepped outside the gym.

He immediately began coughing as he walked into a cloud of smoke.

"Found you, Young Atlas. if I see a cigarette in your hand, I swear that I'm going to---"

He stopped, pausing to lean against the outdoor lockers.

Jim wasn't smoking, he swaying. The actual dance was a few hundred yards away, but the music was loud enough to reach him in the shadows. So he and his dance partner swayed in time to the mournful crooning of an autotuned voice.

**_♪my heart was born out of the fire♪_ **   
**_♪I lost love a thousand years ago♪_ **   
**_♪And still, I can't find her♪_ **   
**_♪Now I don't love like I used to♪_ **   
**_♪Oh but I've got stories I could tell you, if I want to♪_ **

Claire's wig and contacts had been set aside. Her hair was sweaty and cowlicked from being in costume, but Jim was gazing down at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

There was a spot of white on the breast of Jim' Eclipse armor; where Claire's cheek had left a smudge of facepaint. 

**_♪If I told you where I've been♪_ **   
**_♪Would you still call me baby~♪_ **   
**_♪And if I told you everything♪_ **   
**_♪Would you call me crazy~♪_ **

Strickler felt a brief, petty urge to clear his throat, or snap his fingers, something haughty to disrupt them and remind the Trollhunter that he was still under his authority.  
A remnant, from the time in his life he played the 'treacherous changeling' role. the same mean sort of instinct that once made him relish in the power discrepancy between a student trollhunter and changeling principal.

It took a bit of effort, but he managed to smother the old urge, backing away quietly and returning to the haunt.

A pair of girls in matching superhero costumers knelt together at the maze's exit. One of them was sobbing quietly, the other doing her best to comfort her friend.

He recognized the comforter as a freshman named Charlie, from his Intro to World History class.

"Is everything alright?" Strickler asked, slipping effortlessly back into his 'concerned teacher' voice.

"She'll be okay, Mr. Strickler," Charlie stated, "but that last animatronic scared her, and I think the fog machine's broken, it really smells." 

"I'll have a look at it." Strickler grabbed a bottled water from one of the actors, passing it to the trembling student. "For what it's worth, the clown frightened me too."

"I was okay with the clown." She sniffled, wiping her eyes. "But that thing with the horns was way too creepy."

Strickler suddenly felt very cold.

"Horns?"

"Yeah, the huge demon-thing with horns. "

"Right." He lifted a hand to his throat, adjusting his collar. "Charlie, why don't you take her outside, the fresh air should help her nerves."

He watched as the girls stepped out of the gymnasium. 

Once they were gone, Strickler crossed the room, pulling the fire-alarm with the detached air of a sleep-walker.

"Everyone out!" he ordered as the actors and students emerged from the haunt, "Stay together, single file, towards the fire exits!"

He did a silent head count as they passed, reassuring the students that it was probably a false alarm, but 'better to be safe than sorry.'

He waited until the last student had filed out, then shut the gym doors firmly.

Strickler lingered for a moment, bracing his hands against the door as he tried to process what was happening.

A soft clattering noise came from the left; like pebbles falling over a tin roof.

He turned his head toward the forgotten science exhibits and a feverish sweat broke out across his forehead. 

Bular's finger was rattling violently, knocking the other stones off the table. Suddenly,it began to roll toward's the edge of the table, falling without a sound.  


the finger didn't strike the ground.

Instead, a reddish-black cloud of smoke emerged from the haunt; catching it as gently as a down pillow.

The smoke carried the stone digit away, and Strickler's eyes followed as it came to rest beside three more claws.

The claws were attached to a crumbling hand, the crumbling hand to a shattered arm, and the arm to a fragmented body.

Hovering limbs, held in place by a cushion of red fog.

Bular stepped forward on cracked feet, one half of his broken face hovered ever so slightly above the other, so that his red eyes were as misaligned as his horns.

The Dark Prince sighed, and the breath that emerged was red smoke.

_**"....found....you..."** _


	19. Gross Busters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler finds unexpected allies and Bular isn't the only thing from his past that has come back to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to arcadia trash for allowing me to mention their awsome trollhunder oc

_ Somewhere near the shore of Greenland, 998 AD _

  
_"Tyrker!"_

_Strickler winced at the mangled translation of his name. With great reluctance, he turned to face the grizzled helmsman scowling down at him._

_"Jarl Erikson is ready to sail." the viking told him. "We don't have time to wait for your mapmaker!"_

_"Just a little longer. He'll come, you have my word."_

_The Helmsman looked ready to argue. Before he could speak, Strickler grabbed his hand._

_"Ten more minutes," the changeling begged, "Not an instant more."_

_"Ten minutes." the viking snapped before pocketing the coin Strickler had slipped him._

_He spat at his feet, then marched back to the ship._

_The corner of Strickler's mouth twitched as he returned to scanning the tree-line._

_At last, a brief flash of lit the forest; leaving a purple glow behind the branches that cast talon-shaped shadows._

_"There you are, Kodanth." Strickler jogged toward the flare crystal. "We nearly---"_

_His voice trailed off as Bular emerged from the trees; a piece of cloth clutched in his fist._

_"What are you doing here!?" Strickler pushed Bular back into the cover of the forest._ "You shouldn't be here! What about the battle? Where's Kodanth?" 

_"The battle is gone!" Bular shoved the cloth at Strickler. "My father is gone! The horde, the armies, everything is gone!"_

_"What do you mean?" Strickler stopped, drawing back when he realized just how badly Bular was shaken._

_The skullcrusher's heir began to pace, his chest heaving like that of an exhausted warhorse. Foam dripped from his jaws and flanks.His eyes were wide and flaring. For the first time since Strickler could remember, Bular was afraid._

_"Stop pacing!" Strickler growled, grabbing for a horn._

The prince bellowed and snapped his teeth with a sound like wood splitting. Strickler's inhuman reflexes were the only thing that kept him from losing his hand.

_"Bular, what---"_

_His outrage was stifled by the sight of the blood flowing down Bular's jaw._

Pressing his lips together Strickler grabbed a wineskin from his belt and took a step toward the Gumm-Gumm prince.

_Bular snarled, but the changeling ignored his threat._

_"Hold still, your horn's broken.."_

_Strickler caught a handful of the troll's shaggy mane and pulled his head down_

_Bular didn't flinch as the changeling rinsed his wound. The only sign it hurt was the rasp of his breath, hissing between clenched teeth._

_When Strickler finished, he offered him the rest of the wine._

_Bular knocked the canteen from his hands._

_"Aarghaumont," Bular snarled, "He betrayed us! Betrayed ME! He struck when my back was turned, then fled with his tail tucked---"_

_Strickler saw mindless fury rising in Bular's eyes._

_"Focus!" The changeling snapped, "What did you mean by 'everything is gone?'"_

_"I returned to the battlefield, only to find that they had stolen my father's bridge!" Bular's voice rose until it was nearly a scream, "There was no sign of the armies, no tracks, no scent! My father is trapped! Deya must have used that cursed amulet to turn the bridge against him!"_

_"Turned the bridge on him?" Strickler recoiled at the thought, "You're sure he went into the Darklands? That he didn't retreat, or----"_

**_"MY FATHER WOULD NEVER RETREAT!!!"_ **

_The changeling clutched at the cloth Bular had given him. Somewhere beneath the rough fabric, he could make out the shape of something hard and round. It was only when he uncovered the eye-clasp that he realized what he was holding._

_"Kodanth." Strickler stopped, swallowing a sudden lump. "Did you see him?"_

_"He is gone, Stricklander! We're alone. We are all that's left."_

_Strickler turned the clasp over, sliding his thumb along the engraving._

_"We need to find Deya! I'll tear off her limbs and gouge out her eyes with her own sharpened bones! If she imprisoned my father, she'll know how to free him!"_

_The Gumm-Gumm Prince was wrong, of course._

_They weren't alone._

_They weren't all that was left._

_There were hundreds of changelings scattered across the surface, a dozen of which were waiting for him across the sea._

_Hundreds of changelings in need of leadership._

_And if Kodanth was gone, that left the role of Spymaster vacant._

_"The sun will be up any second now, Bular. You should find shelter before it does."_

The changeling turned away. 

_"Where are you going!?"_

_Strickler paused._

_"Do you believe your father is still alive?"_

The Gumm-Gumm prince winced at the question.

_"My father is invincible." he replied after a moment of uncertainty._

_"Gunmar's orders were very clear." Strickler stated, "Your father wants the Janus Order established in Vinland, and he entrusted me with the task."_

_"No."_

_"No?"_

_"I need you here." Bular began to pace once again, "Gather the changelings, all of them! we'll march on Deya at dawn."_

_"But Gunmar said---"_

_"My father will understand."_

_Bular's breathing became more even. He wiped the foam from his jaws and smiled a crooked smile; all the more loathsome for the trace of affection behind it._

_"You're my impure, Stricklander. What better weapon, to join me in---" _

_"I AM NOT YOURS!"_

_The sudden roar tore itself from Strickler's throat, so full of rage that he nearly lost his human form._

_Bular was startled by the outburst. For a brief second, he actually recoiled as Strickler began to retreat from the treeline._

_"Bular, I am not going to throw my life away---"_

_The changeling scowled, his knuckles white as he clutched Kodanth's cape to his chest._

_"--ANY changelings life away on your utter disregard for--for strategy, or common sense or---"_

_Strickler could see Bular's shock fading, he could taste the sour stench of rage rising with the troll's hackles._

_He backws away._

_"I'm going to sail to Vinland. Unlike you, I actually care about fulfilling my oath to Gunmar."_

_Bular lunged for Strickler's throat._ _It was the same move he always used when he lost his temper. And as always, Strickler was ready for it._

_He ducked under the massive fist and darted to one side.The Skullcrusher's heir sailed over him, striking the ground hard._

_The changeling didn't flinch as he rose to his feet. He didn't flinch when Bular began to shriek, his hide crisping beneath the newly-risen sun._

_But Strickler's hands trembled a little as he tucked Kodanth's clasp into his pocket._

_Then, he threw the spymaster's cloak over his screaming prince._

_"My brethern will locate your father's bridge." Strickler pressed his lips together as Bular lurched back to the safety of the trees. "If the Amulet is the key to your father's prison, than I suggest you do the one thing you're good at and kill the Trollhunter."_

_Bular threw the cloak aside, using his fangs to scrape off the sun-scarring._

_"Come find me once you have the amulet, Bular." Strickler didn't glance back as he started toward the ship._

_"When that day comes, pray that I still have use for you---"_

_Bular spat out a mouthful of dead skin, the final word of the threat lingering on his tongue._

_"--Impure."_

The Gymnasium of Arcadia Oaks High, 2018 CE

Strickler tossed a chunk of quartz. His eyes followed the stone as it bounced off Bular's face.

"So, you _are_ really here."

He kept his gaze on the heaving thing drifting toward him,

"No pixies this time. The fallen heir of Gunmar, in the flesh! Well," he kicked away a fragment that drifted too close, "More or less."

Bular's growl was quiet, as if his vocal cords were straining against six feet of earth.

"It's clear you didn't survive your battle. So what are you now? A wraith? A revenant?"

Bular tilted his head at Strickler's tone, his broken face sloughing to one side like mud.

"Why are you here? Revenge?"

Strickler swallowed against the panic rising in his voice, trying to keep his tone haughty and petulant.

But it was so, _so_ hard to focus while his mind was pulsed with a single, prey-paced imperative.

_Get away._

The door at his back wasn't an option; it lead directly to the students. There was another door to the left of the bleachers, but that was behind Bular. 

Strickler took a cautious step to one side.

If he could reach the showers, there was a direct path to the sewers. Strickler could circle back around and---

_**"...Don't..."** _

The dark prince didn't run so much as he flowed, the broken stones of his body swirling on a torrent of smoke before reforming.

Strickler hadn't realized he was scrambling backward until the metal corner of a folding table stabbed his spine.

Pain exploded through his lower back, so sudden that it forced the breath from his lungs.

"AUGH!"

The changeling dropped to his knee; the table falling as he clutched it for purchase. 

One of Bular's claws drifted toward Strickler's face. 

The glowing tip of his talon crumbled to dust like the cherry of a cigarette.

And then Strickler was running.

He ducked under one of the exhibit tables and threw a second toward Bular.

The Gumm-Gumm Prince knocked it aside and lurched after him.

Strickler wasn't thinking when he ducked into the maze. He just wanted to put something - _ **anything**_ \- between him and Bular.

Even cardboard walls.

He dodged past a polyester ghost and turned a sharp left.

Two red eyes flared to life inches from his face.

A burning mouth twisted into a throaty cackle as Strickler fell back, choking on a gasp---

But then he recognized the motion-activated Jack-o-Lantern.

Keeping his back to the wall, the changeling began to advance through the maze. He'd been there was it was built. He knew the layout.

But as Strickler ducked beneath a plastic vampire, it slowly dawned on him that he was lost.

He took another left and came to a stop. A handful of 'blood'-spattered desks had been stacked to form a dead-end. 

Strickler closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath.

His trollish instincts were roaring at him. If he couldn't run, then he must turn and fight. Defend his honor, protect his territory, bite through Bular's throat and rip out his still-pulsing--- 

His troll instincts were going to get him killed. 

The smell of smoke was overwhelming as Bular passed by. Strickler ducked behind a gravestone, watching as a flickering red glow oozed beneath the cardboard walls.

Distant notes of music and laughter made their way through the gymnasium. The acoustics funneled the safe sounds of the masquarade dance toward him. 

**_♪I breathe you in again, just to feel you.♪_ **  
**_♪Underneath my skin, holding onto♪_ **  
**_♪The sweet escape is always laced with a familiar taste of poison~♪_ **

Bular's footsteps came to a stop. 

**♪I don't wanna be saved, I don't wanna be sober I want you on my mind♪**  
**♪ in my dreams, behind these eyes and I won't wake up♪**  
**♪No not this time~♪**

A low snuffling sound rose above the music. 

Strickler pressed a shaking palm to his mouth. 

The red glow drew closer.

He closed his eyes and tasted smoke.

**_TSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST_ **

A sudden burst of fumes hissed out of the fog machine; directly in Bular's face. 

The cardboard wall toppled, and from his hiding place Strickler could see the Gumm-Gumm prince recoil and paw at his snout.

Bular made an ursine sound, something between a moan and a growl. 

If he glanced a few centimeters to the left, then Bular would be looking directly at Strickler's hiding place.

Instead, the Skullcrusher's heir turned his head toward the sound of laughing teenagers. 

Through the cracks in his snout, Strickler could see nerves twitching as Bular caught scent of the students.

He went limp with relief as the Gumm-Gumm prince started toward the doors.

While Bular distracted, he could grab supplies from his office---

_Bular was after his students._

-Circle back, regroup with the Trollhunters--

 _Bular was after his students_.

-Maybe he could find some way to keep this from the Janus order and--

_The **Troll** was hunting **his fawns**._

"I'm not sure what you expected!"

Bular turned toward the sound of his voice, and Strickler took the opportunity to cross to another part of the maze. 

He cursed himself for speaking, but it was too late to second-guess his choice.

"Did you think I'd grovel? 'Oh, please spare me, Bular! I'm so sorry you died!' After all the times you nearly killed me!?"

He could hear stone shoulders scraping against cardboard as Bular forced his way into the other end of the maze.

Strickler set his lips together, keeping his back to the wall as he side-stepped.

"Vendel said that I needed to find what you regret. But that's the problem, you've never regretted anything! So what are you here for? Vengeance? Satisfaction? Or are you just upset that you never managed to eat me?" 

The Skullcrusher's heir paused for a moment.

And then the scraping grew faster.

Strickler swallowed cotton. His ears tracked the rasp of Bular's movements; heard him turn the corner---

\---and run straight into the two-headed clown.

The motion-detector triggered an electronic scream, and Strickler used the sound as cover to break through the wall of the maze.

It was a straight shot to the exit less than twenty meters away.

In a breathless burst he sprinted toward the doors and the promise of escape that lay on the other side. 

He was going to survive.

**Fifteen meters.**

He would live to see Jim accept his diploma. He would hand it to him personally. He'd tell the graduates not to throw their caps, but they'd still do it, and Jim's would probably have something clever written on the top. He would live to ask Barbara to be his wife. She'd wear his favorite strapless green dress, and he'd wear his sable cloak. 

**Ten meters**

He'd get down on one knee and place the diamond on her hand, smooth and pale against his claws-his changeling claws- and she would accept and understand just as long as he lived to reach those doors---

**Five meters.**

Strickler sensed the danger before he saw it.

In a last, adrenal burst , he lunged toward the exit.

Then the twisted wreckage of the clown animatronic came crashing down on him. 

His legs crumpled. Strickler's skull bounced off the gymaniusm floor and the world went red.

"Nuuuhnngh..." 

At first Strickler thought the groan was coming from Bular, but as he blinked away static, he realized that Bular wasn't making a sound.

The Gumm-Gumm Prince stood completely silent as he gazed down at him.

"N-no, No..."

Strickler tried to drag himself away, but a searing pain in his leg put an end to that.

He glanced back, paling when he saw the piece of rebar pinning his calf to the ground.

The smouldering carcass stepped closer, and Strickler redoubled his struggles. He wrenched at his impaled leg with the animal panic of a coyote caught in a snare.

Purple blood oozed from the wound in sluggish rivulets. 

"Do it, then." Strickler choked out, "Finish me. I always knew you would. Even when we were children. We were never friends, I was just a toy, a slave. I always knew you'd..."

His voice broke. 

With nothing more to say, Strickler bowed his head and waited for the killing blow.

The burning claw drifted forward and began peeling the wreckage away. After a moment, only the pinning piece remained.

_**"...No..."** _

Bular's voice was soft as it strained through broken vocal cords. 

He sounded very tired.

_**"...I'm...so...sorry..."** _

The broken pieces of trollstone gathered closer with the air of a coat being drawn against the cold. When the cracked fragments connected, Bular almost looked whole. 

Almost.

Against his will, Strickler found his eyes drifting toward the blow that took the prince's life.

It was a deep stab wound in the Gumm-Gumm's left breast. True to its name, Daylight had burned clear through, piercing lung, stomach, and liver.

Petrification was a mercy when weighed against the slow, sepetic alternative. 

Strickler retched at the knowledge that Bular died choking on his own boiling bile.

A horrible death, to be sure, but he deserved it.

_Bular deserved it_

"Then again, what do I know about 'getting what you deserve?" Strickler choked out a laugh, brushing his eyes on the back of his hand.  


The pool of purple beneath his leg was growing steadily.

"After a thousand years of insults and beatings. Of course you'd die before apologizing." 

Almost tentatively; Bular extended a claw toward him, palm up.

Strickler exhaled.

All of a sudden he felt very tired.

"For what it's worth," 

He reached for Bular's hand.

"I did my best to look after your father."

The smouldering hand blurred.

_**".....father...."** _

The rasping word dripped with greed.

Through clouding eyes, Strickler could see a slow smile spread across Bular's face; revealing twice as many teeth as he should have.

And they were coming straight for his throat. 

"EAT PROPER HYDRATION, FREEPER!"

Bular's grin vanished, replaced with the briefest flicker of confusion.

Then his face exploded under a jet of water.

Strickler threw his arms up; shielding his head as wet chunks of stone flew like shrapnel.

"If it's creepy--"

The star athlete of Arcadia Oaks High stepped triumphantly from the shadows.

"-then it's a job for the Creepslayerz."

"Steve?" Strickler muttered in bewilderment.

Bular's stones shifted; shattered limbs drifting in an attempt to recombobulate. 

Steve Palchuck showed no mercy. He advanced on the swirling cloud of smoke, holding his science-fair project like a fireman's hose.

He didn't stop spraying until the rubble was still.

"Pepperjack, Civilian!" Steve ordered.

"On it!"

Strickler's confusion deepened as Elijah Pepperjack hurried toward him. The boy had swapped his haunt costume for greasepaint and a black vespa helmet.

"What in the world do you two think you're doing!?"

"Principle Strickler, I need you to remain calm." Eli knelt beside the changelings leg, tugging off his backpack "Steve and I are professionals."

Strickler grabbed his student's shoulder. He wanted yell at him to run, but the minute he opened his mouth he found his vision swimming.

A second later he was on the floor again.

"Garlic, salt, holy water...scissors!"

Blearily, Strickler saw Eli pull out a pair of leopard print safety scissors. An instant later, the Creepslayer was cutting off his blood-soaked pantleg.

"Steve, help me!"

Palchuck kicked away a gallbladder-shaped rock before turning toward them.

"What's wrong?" he froze at the sight of Strickler's leg. "Oh. Oh, sick."

"Give me your belt!" Eli ordered.

Steve's face had gone the color of spoiled milk but he tugged his belt free of the loops.

"This is really bad." Eli explained, "If his popliteal artery's been cut he might die."

Steve crouched down as Eli made a tourniquet, his small, steady hands pulling the belt tight.  
"Poptart artery, got it." Steve gave a decisive nod and moved toward the chunk of metal.

"We need to call an ambulance." Eli explained, "And whatever you do, don't---"

"Got it!" Steve lifted the now-freed rebar over his head.

Strickler came to to the sound of Eli yelling at Steve. The gymnasium floor felt sticky beneath his cheek.

Behind the arguing Creepslayerz, he could just make out the smoldering pile of stones re-arranging themselves.

He recognized the shape of Bular's claw a second before it swung forward.

"Get down!"

Stricklander tackled the Creepslayerz as black talons sliced the air where their throats had been a second ago.

Bular snorted steam, giving his broken head a shake as if to clear it. 

Another snort, and the steam was replaced with smoke.

"Move." Stricklander growled to the teens. When neither responded, he grabbed the backs of their shirts.

"I said MOVE!"

Eli and Steve were frozen, so he started to half-drag half-carry them toward the showers.

Stricklander's leg spasmed in protest and he fell to one knee.

For a moment, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to stand, but then a thin shoulder slipped beneath his arm.

"You're one of the good ones, aren't you?" Eli's voice cracked a little as he propped him up, but his warm brows eyes met his teacher's without wavering.

With a dawning horror, Stricklander realized he'd transformed.

"You're a creeper." Steve squeaked.

"Steve, don't freak out." Eli told him. 

"He's a creeper--you're a creeper!" Steve gripped his helmet with both hands and wobbled slightly.

"Mr. Palchuck," Stricklander said, "If you faint I will personally recommend summer school to your mother, stepfather, grandparents, and anyone else with the power to make your life miserable."

"Summer School!? But I was gonna road trip! Wha---"

Hearing his principal take a familiar tone seemed to steady him. 

"Right." Steve cleared his throat, "No fainting."

"Uh, guys?" Eli said.

Bular had regained his footing. Red smoke billowed like thunderclouds around his shoulders as the last horned fragments of his head settled into place.   
Stricklander thought he glimpsed something in the prince's burning eyes, something that peered back at him with an angonized desperation. 

And then Bular was charging.

"RUN!"

This time the Creepslayerz obeyed. The two of them raced for the door, Steve yanking Eli to his feet when the other stumbled.

Stricklander sprinted after them, but he only made it a few yards before his wounded leg caved beneath him. 

He pushed himself up on his elbows.

No time to summon his wings, no time to grab a blade.

All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and prepare for the pain of claws ripping into his back---

Bular shrieked.

The sound gave way to a low groan and the shuffling sounds of the Gumm-Gumm backing away.

Stricklander glanced up.

Bular was retreating from a slowly spreading puddle of goo, his broken hooves skidding on the floor in his rush to withdraw.

The goo dripped steadily from the overturned paintbucket holding Mary Wang's science project.

In that instant Stricklander didn't think why the Prince's was afraid.

Instead, he thought of something Eli had said earlier.

He thought of murdered changelings, and bones picked clean.

And then there was no thought at all, only action.

Stricklander leaped toward Eli's forgotten backpack like a baseball player sliding to home plate. 

He shoved his hand into the bag, praying that he hadn't misheard earlier.

His hand closed on a container of table salt.

He didn't have a skull to channel the spell or enough time to charge it. Stricklander could only hope his anger would be enough to fuel the dark magic.

"Zyim Döke! Satü Lahk!"

He flung a handful of the salt toward Bular and the Gumm-Gumm prince shrieked.

"Zyim Döke! Satü Lahk!" Another wave of salt, and this time the granules began to glow a faint blue.

The spell to bind spirits called for a calm tone, but Stricklander was far removed from calm.

This time, he didn't speak the incantation, he roared, channeling all his rage into a final fistful of purifying salt.

"ZYIM DÖkE SATÜ---"

His leg gave out.

As Stricklander struck the ground, he became keenly aware that he was going to die tonight.

The Gumm-Gumm prince lunged forward in an explosion of claws and teeth and sharpened viscera---

Only to be forced back by another jet of water.

Eli's jaw was set as he leveled his water shooter. His eyes fierce and fearless as he came to stand beside Stricklander.

This time Steve was the one to prop him up; the slime bucket tucked under one arm.

Stricklander gingerly tested his wounded leg. Trollstone didn't bleed as freely as flesh and the tourniquet helped, but between blood loss and a minor concussion, he doubted he could stay on his feet much longer. 

But for now, he was able to stand.

And so, with a Creepslayer on each side, Stricklander advanced on Bular.

"Sim duck satu luck!" Steve shouted; flicking slime like holy water.

"Zym doke satu lahk!" Eli repeated the spell, his voice never wavering.

Stricklander joined them, and soon, the three were chanting in unison. 

Their pronunciation was horrible, and the words held no power.

But there was magic in solidarity, and in having people stand beside you even though you were a changeling.

And so they marched forward. Stricklander didn't even realize they were herding Bular until the Gumm-Gumm prince retreated into Coach Lawrence's office.

Then Steve slammed the door shut, trapping him inside.

"We did it!" Eli shouted, throwing his fists in the air, "We caught the freeper!"

"He isn't a freeper." Exhausted, Stricklander let himself slump against a wall. "In life, he was a troll named Bular." 

The changeling pulled out his cellphone, then absently let it fall to his lap. "I've been tracking him for a few days now." 

"Mr. Strickler, you really need an ambulance." Eli said.

Stricklander shook his head.

"Alright..." The creepslayer gently took his phone, "But I'm texting your emergency contact..."

"You and Steve need to focus on leading the other students away. I need to finish the fight." Stricklander said, forcing himself to stand. 

"Should we get Jim?" Eli asked.

"You know about that? Nevermind-"

Stricklander glowered.

"--There are some things the Trollhunter doesn't need to know."

"What doesn't the Trollhunter need to know?" Jim asked behind him.

"Oh, Hi, Jim!" Eli gave a cheerful wave as Stricklander turned to face the Trollhunter.

"Lake!" Steve hurried over and shoved Jim's shoulder, "Did you know our Principle was a creeper?" 

"I knew." Jim answered, "But I thought he'd changed."

"Young Atlas," Stricklander reached out a hand to him, "I can explain."

"Explain what? That you KNEW this thing was actually following me?" Jim knocked his hand away with the flat of his sword. "That you let me think I was going crazy?"

"I only wanted to---"

"Honestly? I don't care what you want." Jim stepped back. "I'm just glad Blinky listened to me. Now, which way did it go?"

The Creeplayerz glanced between the two of them uncomfortably.

"We caught it." Steve explained, "It's in Da---er, Coach's office."

"We should get the other students away." Eli's voice hadn't quite returned to a whine, but it was clear the adrenaline was fading fast.  
Jim's phone rang.

"It's already taken care of. Claire's outside evacuating the dance floor." Jim pulled the cellphone out from somewhere in his armor.

"Good thinking. The fewer potential hostages around Bular the better." Stricklander folded his arms across his chest.

Jim gave him a funny look.

"You think that thing is---Just wait a second," The trollhunter held up one finger, then answered the phone. "Hello, Blinky? You were right. It went after Strickler. We've got it contained."

"What do you mean 'Blinky was right?'" Stricklander growled the words.

"Blinky has been trying to call you all night. That creature? It's not what you think."

Jim shoved the phone into Stricklander's claws. 

"I'll let him explain. Here, I put it on speaker."

The Creepslayerz huddled close as the cellphone broadcasted the tail-end of a rant.

"---Hardly see the point of having a cellular device if Strickler refuses to answer it!" Blinky's voice crackled on the other end.

"There will be time for lectures later, Blinkous. The sooner Bular's put down, the better." 

His leg throbbed and Stricklander squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of vertigo.

"I'm afraid what we're dealing with is far worse than Bular." Blinky replied, "If Vendel hadn't informed us of your conversation, I shudder to think what could have befallen you--"

"Blinkous."

"Yes, well, I digress. What we mistook for a spirit was actually an exceedingly dangerous creature, first discovered and defeated by the benevolent Trollhunter Wren. While facing down the spectre of her childhood friend, she was shocked to learn---"

"Blinkous, _what is it?_ "

"Pentrificar Conploratus. A rapacious predator that craves the spice of grief. To this end, it uses its preternatural sense of smell to track down those who have been in contact with the felled."

Blinky paused, and Strickler could almost hear his shudders on the other end of the line.

"In order to lure it's prey, it cloak's itself in troll remains. By reassambling the vocal chords, it can go so far as to parrot words in order to appear more convincing. Once it has found a comfortable shell, it stalks its prey for days, building up their dread and guilt until they are seasoned enough for it to strike."

"Wait," Steve muttered, "You're saying this evil hermit crab pretends to be a dead person so it can feed on their friends? That's..."

"Gross." Blinky stated.

"More like horrible," Eli shivered, "and traumatizing."

"No, Gross. It is the more common name for Pentrificar Conploratus. Common being a relative term, considering the Gross is an exceptionally rare creature. "

"Yeah, well it's about to get rarer." Jim turned his sword over, casting light from its edge.

"Yeah, let's do this!" Steve pumped his water squirter. "I ain't afraid of no gross!"

The office door rattled violently. 

Steve yelped, ducking behind Eli for support.

_**"...Trollhunter..."** _

The pounding died down to a pitiful scratching.

_**"....please...don't...."** _

Stricklander frowned at Jim's expression. The Trollhunter's facepaint did nothing to hide how tired he looked, or the flicker of anxiety.

False face or not, it was still Bular's voice; and Bular's throat that Jim would need to slit. 

Quietly, Stricklander turned off the speaker and put the phone to his ear.

"I don't understand. The creature your describing isn't found in the Book of Ga-huel. If what you say is true, why haven't I heard of it?"

"The Gross is rare almost to the point of myth; Largely because it is not its own unique species. In actuality, It is the misbegotten result between an Antramonstrum and a Gruesome. Of course they live in completely different environments, so crossbreedings are usually engineered by an outside force. Once we deal with the Gross,I fear we must track down the creature's master and bring him to justice!" 

"Master?" Stricklander could hear his voice shaking.

"Oh, most certainly! After all, who would be so careless as to introduce an Antramonstrum into Gruesome territory?"

Stricklander hung up on Blinky without another word. A muscle in the corner of his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. 

Behind him, he could hear the Trollhunter preparing to finish the fight. 

"As soon as that door opens, you two get back. Alright, on three. Ready?"

The doorknob rattled a bit under a trembling hand.

"Ready." Eli answered.

"One..."

Had that been sarcasm he heard in Blinky's voice? Scorn? Disgust? 

Why else would he have said that?

"Two..."

_They knew._

"Three!"

Of course they knew.

The door flew open.

The Creepslayerz leaped aside as Jim charged, raising his sword for the killing blow.

Stricklander clutched at his leg and listened for the Trollhunter's battle cry; for the bellow of the beast's dying roars.

But the only sound was the fluttering of papers.

And the cold october wind whispering through a tiny, broken window.

"Oh, this is bad." Eli whimpered.

"Oh, no, no. Nonono!" Jim clutched at his head, Daylight's edge heavily to the floor."How did it fit through there?" 

"We saw it take itself apart earlier." Steve answered, "Like that movie with the time-traveling robot." 

The gynasium doors burst open, and Blinky raced in with Claire close behind.

"It got away." The Trollhunter said without greeting them, "I let it get away."

"Master Jim, you are not to blame for this." Blinky gave his shoulder a brief squeeze.

"I just got off the phone with Toby." Claire said, "Aaarrrgghh's not grieving, he's in full on protective mode."

"Excellent!" Blinky folded two hands together, "Anger should repel the Gross . They're actually quite finicky when it comes to the flavor of their prey. It is sorrow that the creature craves and sorrow that it will seek."

"The Gross," Stricklander pressed a hand to his eyes. The words felt heavy and hard to form. "It can track grief?"

"Indeed," Blinky nodded gravely, "And this one will be desperate to feed. Once it has locked onto its prey, there is no where in the seven realms it won't chase it down. All it takes is a touch, a single trace of scent on the remains. As a matter of fact, when the Trollhunter Wren was fighting a Gross, she..."

Stricklander didn't hear the rest of the story. He was preoccupied with a memory that he'd been trying to avoid for days. 

_**"It appears Nomura has gotten her way. Another changeling has been chosen." Strickler grinned as he lifted the carved stone for Bular to see, "And look who it is."** _

_**The Gumm-Gumm prince returned his smile.** _

_**It was a rare moment of solidarity.** _

_**With a hum, Strickler tossed the runestone to Bular and the Skullcrusher's heir caught it on reflex.** _

_**"I'll inform Fragwa. Enrique Nunez will be in the Darklands by morning."** _

_**Strickler felt a spiteful flare of triumph as he walked out of the room. Taking the brother of the girl he loved seemed like a fitting punishment for the Trollhunter exposing Nomura.** _

_**Strickler paused with his hand on the museum door. Come to think of it, Nomura hadn't reported in recently.** _

_**On impulse, Strickler started back toward Bular, to ask if he'd heard from her.** _

_**Bular didn't notice him return.** _

_**As Strickler watched from the shadows, Bular grabbed the fetch, gazing down at it with an unusual expression.** _

_**A small shard of heartstone was pulled from his pocket. Bular turned the shining fragment over in his fingers.** _

_**His claws curled into a nervous fist, as if mustering his courage.** _

_**Then he plunged his arm into the fetch.** _

_**It was impossible for Strickler to know what was happening on the other side, but after a few long moments, he notice the tension leave Bular's face.** _

_**The Gumm-Gumm prince shuddered. His red eyes flickered with emotion, then they closed.** _

_**Bular rumbled quietly, leaning against the fetch.** _

_**Through the swirling green portal, Strickler thought he caught a glimpse of glowing blue claws.** _

"Alright," Jim turned to the Creepslayerz, "You guys go grab Draal, we'll need him to help us track."

"There's no need, Young Atlas."

Stricklander's voice was hard.

"I know where it's going."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry to everyone who wanted to see Bular again, I never expected such a strong reaction to his return. I tried to leave a few clues that something was wrong, but I'll keep in mind that people want to see him again.


	20. Will and Testament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Janus Order rallies to protect the humans of Arcadia Oaks, Strickler much come to terms with his choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the merry month of june, I finally wrap up my halloween special. As I type this note it is five am. This chapter is months overdue and I can't apologize enough. I'm probably gonna come back in the morning to a ton of errors and mistakes, but for now, content warnings.
> 
> This chapter contains gore, body horror, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, and a graphic image at the end. This is not a happy chapter.
> 
> Consider yourself warned.

"What are _you_ supposed to be?"

Jared Longhannon squinted; trying to determine if the young girl's horns were a mask or prosthetic.

"I'm a cupcake!" She grinned in response.

Jared side-eyed the cotton frosting and plastic sprinkles.

"Okay, What about your horns?" 

The girl reached up to adjust the plush cherry strapped to her head.

"My daddy gave them to me." 

Jared considered that an acceptable answer.

"Cool." He pointed across the street. "You going to the Nightmare House?"

Three hundred and sixty four days a year the bungalow-style house was an unassuming place. But on a single october night, the house transformed into a corner-stone of Arcadia Oaks urban-legend. 

A dozen different nightmares stood sentinel on the lawn; life-sized zombies lurking beside pumpkin-headed horrors and wickedly grinning clowns. A huge pile of tattered cloth loomed beside the walkway, draped in bones and cobwebs. Here and there, mummified bats, and human-shaped cocoons warned of the fate of any trick-or-treater unfortunate enough to be caught in the strands.

Just beyond that; the porch stood waiting.

Severed heads hung from the ceiling; Their unseeing eyes rolled back, glazed and hollow enough to demand pause, calling into question if they were really something so benign as rubber decorations. 

For the past fifteen years, the story of the Nightmare House had passed from sibling to sibling. Through plastic masks and sticky facepaint, children swore the house's owner was a witch who kept a monster in the basement and fed it with children's fear. 

"You know, my brother says she's a cannibal." Jared whispered, "He says some guy went missing. No one could figure out what happened to him. Then one day, the museum's toilets backed up, the sinks overflowed and all the water was red. So the plumber goes down to the sewers to see what's wrong, and in this tiny pipe, all twisted and chewed on, they find the missing guys skeleton."

He lowered his voice for effect.

"The pipe they found him in was only as big around as a basketball. Whatever shoved him in there was strong enough to crush him until he fit. The scary part is? That guy was a security guard at the museum. The same museum she---"

Jared paused as the girl marched forward, clearly unphased by his story.

"Hey!" He protested, offended that she'd wandered off without letting him finish.

"It's okay," The girl reassured him, "I've met Miss Nomura. She's nice."

"No way!" Jared trailed after her, "She totally ate that guy! And I bet she knows all kinds of chinese curses."

"She's not chinese." the girl lead Jared safely around the animatronic's motion sensors, but he balked in front of the web-covered mound.

The girl glanced back.

"Come on!" She said, waving, "Don't be a baby! Ms. Nomura gives out full-sized candybars!"

For a moment, Jared looked tempted.

But then his eyes flickered between his overflowing candy bag and the looming web.

"No way. She's a weirdo, and you're a weirdo, too." 

Jared huffed and turned away from the porch.

Behind him, the cobwebbed skeletons began to rise.

Jared froze, his vacant gaze traveling up and up and up before finally meeting a pair of golden eyes that seemed to tower miles above the ground.

And just below them; a row of sharp, glinting teeth slowly spread in a grin.

Jared dropped his candy and ran screaming before the thing could finish roaring.

"Hi, Draal! Trick or Treat!"

Kovi smiled and held up her plastic pumpkin.

"Happy Hallows Eve, Kovi." Draal returned the nod. "Nomura has prepared bone meal cookies. You may have two of them."

"Okay, Thank you!" Kovi hurried to the door, her tail flicking in excitement.

Draal rumbled and crouched back down, throwing the webbed cloth over his horns to prepare for the next trick or treater.

Kovi glanced back, giggling as a massive blue hand crept out just long enough to claim Jared's candy bag.

"Hello, Kovi." Nomura answered on the first knock, "Happy Halloween."

Her eyes glittered beneath the brim of a veiled hat. Black silk fell from her shoulders, pooling around her ankles so that her cape seemed to merge with the hem of her gown. Holding her outfit in place was a perfect gemstone spider broach. 

The witch costume seemed _right_ somehow, more honest than the polo dress she usually wore.

"Wow!" Kovi gazed up at her with genuine admiration.

The changeling dropped a ziplock bag of cookies into Kovi's bucket.

"You're not by yourself, are you?"

"Nah, My papa's over there!" Kovi pointed across the street.

Ceban Smith stood chatting with a group of fathers. His costume wasn't much more than a detective's jacket and hair gel to slick back his mane.

Impossibly, One of the other dads seem to be wearing the same costume, although his was closer to a werewolf of some sort. 

Ceb said something, and the rest of the father's laughed in response.

In spite of his trollish features, Ceban looked right at home. A dad in his natural habitat.

"Miss Nomura," Kovi asked, "Does Walter like Halloween?"

"Strickler _loves_ Halloween. Not as much as I do, of course." 

"Do you think he'll like my costume?" Kovi's eyes lit up at the thought.

"He is going to love your costume." Nomura knelt, taking a minute to adjust the cherry on top of Kovi's head.

"I love Draal's costume." The youngling glanced toward him, "Does he get a lot of candy?"

"Draal doesn't like candy; it's the plastic pumpkins he's after."

Kovi tilted her head, considering for a moment.

Then, she dumped her candy down the front of her costume, and handed her now-empty pumpkin to Nomura.

"We're going to Walter's house next!" Kovi announced, "My dad has a present for him."

"Alright then, you'd better hurry." 

Nomura waved as Kovi hurried back to her dad; leaving a small trail of candy in her wake.

Once they were out of sight, Nomura descended the steps.

"You know," Draal stated, peering out from beneath his webbed shroud, "You really are good with younglings."

"Do **not** go there." Nomura took the candybag from him.

"I know you doubt yourself, but I still think you would make a good---MPHF!"

Nomura shoved the plastic pumpkin into his mouth before he could finish his sentence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I lost the trail!"

Stricklander snarled in frustration, shoving himself away from the sidewalk. "The one time I actually try to _stalk_ something and I can't even manage that." 

Blinky knelt, giving the sidewalk a sniff.

"I find your tracking skills rather impressive. You're nearly as attuned to your sense of smell as Aaarrrgghh."

"Perhaps we should call him?"

"No," The Trollhunter spoke up, jogging the last few yards to catch up. "Aaarrrgghh's better off with Toby and Darci, at least then we know they're safe."

Behind him, Claire and the Creepslayerz emerged from a portal.

"Any sign of the Gross?" Claire asked.

"I'm afraid the beast has eluded us." Blinky shook his head.

"Why does that matter?" Steve piped up, "Principle Creeper said he knows where---"

"CIVILIANS!" Eli shouted.

Blinky and Stricklander ducked down at his warning, taking shelter behind a bus stop.

They stayed there as a group of Trick-Or-Treaters started to cross the street. 

A red car screeched to a halt, barely missing them. 

"Jerk!" shouted one of the children.

As the trick-or-treaters hurried away; the driver-side door swung open.

"Strickler, There you are! I've been looking everywhere!"

"Archuero?" Stricklander plopped down onto the bus bench in bewilderment. "What are _you_ doing here?"

  
"Nomura gave me fifty bucks to switch with her as your emergency contact. Some kid texted me." Archuero pulled a first aid kit from the car. "He said that you were really hurt."

" _Who's this guy?_ Wait---" The Trollhunter turned away from Archuero, "Strickler, you're hurt?"

Stricklander winced. The worry in Jim's voice stung nearly as much as the hole in his leg.

"There'll be time for introductions later, right now all you need to know is that Arch works for me." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, "In any case, my injury is just a flesh wound. I'll be fine as long as I am not _made_ of _flesh_ ."

"Don't argue, Boss, just show me where it hurts." 

Archuero knelt down, examining Stricklander's leg. 

"Who the fresh hell pulled something out of an impalement wound!?"

Steve quickly pointed at Eli.

Archuero muttered a rude phrase in Trollish and produced a bottle of medical elixir.

"Let that sit for five minutes." He ordered, "Won't heal you, but it should keep it from getting any worse." 

"We don't have _time_ o sit, Arch, that creature is going to..."

Stricklander leaned forward, closing his eyes against a sudden wave of vertigo.

Then for what felt like the hundreth time that night, he dropped to the ground.

"And _that_ would be the blood loss." Archuero announced, propping him back up. "Sorry, Trollhunter. I think the boss is out of commission." 

"It's alright," Jim's glare softened a bit. "Get him somewhere safe." 

Stricklander growled.

"No, I'm not leaving this to you. Archuero, Plan G."

The Trollhunters looked confused, but the younger changeling understood immediately.

With a solemn nod, Archuero reached into his medical bag and pulled out a vial of purple powder.

Blinky made a small sound of dismay.

"Strickler, you are in no condition to be taking Gravesand!"

"Thank you for your input, Blinkious. I'll take it under advisement." Stricklander stated before snorting the powder off the back of his palm.

The Gravesand flooded his lungs like pepper-spray, burning away the enervation. A swell of rage rose behind his eyes, so fierce that he had to clench his teeth to keep from roaring.

"Alright!" With a snarl, Stricklander pushed himself to his feet, "Let's get to it! The quicker we are, the fewer casualties we'll have to clean up."

" _Casualties_?" Eli squeaked.

"Did our history teacher just do cocaine?" Steve asked.

"Yes-I mean, No---we need to focus!" Jim sheathed his sword and turned to Stricklander, "Where's the _Inlustris Callis_ ? We have to get to it before the Gross finds Gunmar."

"Do we?" Claire said quietly.

The entire group turned to her.

The stunned silence that fell over them was broken by Archuero's slow clap.

"Oh, I _like_ her." 

"You think we should just...let that thing eat Gunmar?" Jim asked.

  
"Rule Number Two, Remember?" Claire touched Jim's shoulder, "You wouldn't even be breaking the Contract. Your job is to keep the Gross away from Trollmarket, right? We could just get everyone off the street and let whatever happens to Gunmar...happen."

"Gunmar...that's the final level boss, right?" Steve asked, glancing toward Eli. 

Eli nodded.

"King Creeper. Threat level Ten."

"Wait, Ten? A zombie apocalypse is only an eight!"

"Trust me, buddy, Gunmar's a ten." Archuero chimed in.

Steve and Eli exchanged glances, then looked toward Jim.

"Anyway, couldn't this King Creeper handle himself?" Steve asked.

Jim set his hand over Claire's, then he looked toward Blinky.

"The choice must be yours to make." Blinky explained, "It's true, destroying Gunmar would bring an end to the threat of the Gumm-Gumms forever. Yet while I have no doubt that Gunmar is deserving of such a fate, being devoured alive by a Gross..."

Blinky sighed and folded his hands.

"It is not something I would wish upon my worst enemy."

"But Jim," Claire asked, "Even if you save him, what's Gunmar going to do to you when he sees you fighting his son?" 

The Trollhunter stepped back, lifting his palm to his forehead. 

"It's...It's okay, It'll be okay. I can do this."

"But you shouldn't have to! Strickler," Claire stated, "You've known Gunmar longer than anyone. What do _you_ think we should do?"

Stricklander recoiled as everyone turned toward him.

 _Of course_ they'd expect him to give the execution order. Heaven forbid _they_ make a difficult decision. If Jim died rescuing Gunmar then the blood would be on his hands, After all, _he_ was to blame for all of this. 

Stricklander felt the heat of the Gravesand rise to his eyes. 

"Principle Strickler, you're growling. Are you okay?" Eli asked from behind Steve's shoulder.

_"Oh no."_

The group looked toward Steve, who suddenly sounded very scared. 

"I just remembered! Coach's sister is visiting, I---" Steve paused, swallowing hard, "I've got a cousin. He's seven, just-just a great little nerd, and he's out trick-or-treating right now. If anything happened to him..."

"Blinky," Claire asked, "Would the Gross eat a human who wasn't grieving?"

Blinky's ears drooped.

"The Gross is an ambush predator. It is wounded, it's progress will be slowed considerably and it will do what it can to remain unseen. It would never seek to inhabit a human body, but I fear If the beast feels cornered, it will not hesitate to attack."

The shadow staff darkened in Claire's grip.

"We have to find it before that happens." She said.

"Alright, you two," Jim pointed his sword at the Creepslayerz, "Take Claire and get as many kids off the street as you can." 

"But there's only two of us!" Eli protested, "Don't tell me we're going to have to pick and choose which kids to save, I'm not ready for that!"

"No, we're going to save all of them. We can make it work, we just have to...we could..."

The Trollhunter clutched at his head, wracking his brain for a solution.

"The Janus Order!" Blinky's voice rang out clear and confident, chasing away thoughts of doomed children.

"Of course!" Claire grabbed Blinky's shoulder, "There's hundreds of agents in the Janus Order, they can help us!"

"Trained warriors, at that! After decades of plotting Arcadia Oak's downfall; our changeling allies may just be this city's salvation!"

Blinky punched his palm in triumph. 

"Strickler," Jim turned to his teacher, "Can you contact Otto? There has to be a way for the changelings to help!"

"I can't." 

"It's fine," Jim pulled out his cellphone and hit the speed-dial, "I think I've got his number saved, I'll just---"

Stricklander wrapped his claws around the phone, hitting the 'end call' button.

"The agents in the Janus Order may wear masks, but they aren't faceless, Jim. They have names, lives, Some of them have _families_. I've already forced my fellow changelings to accept the Contract, I'm not going to ask them to risk their human identities any sooner than necessary!"

"So, we just leave those kids to fend for themselves!?" Jim snapped, snatching his phone back. "Just let whatever happens to them happen?"

"I don't need to be lectured about civilian casualties by someone who isn't old enough to--"

"Enough!" Blinky ducked between the Trollhunter and Spymaster, pushing them away from each other, "No more! We are stronger united!"  
  
"Shut up, all of you."

Archuero's voice was calm and so unexpected that Stricklander and Jim both paused.

"We don't have time for you two to explain what the other clearly doesn't get. So how about you both shut up and hear me out?" 

Archuero took a long drink of coffee from a cup that seemed to have materialized out of no where.

One he drained the cup, Archuero crushed it.

His eyes began to glow, illuminating a very thin smile.

"What if the Janus Order didn't have to risk their _human_ identities?"

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deep in the forests of Arcadia, a chalk-white changeling was awoken by a ringtone. 

Eloise Stemhower groaned. She shoved away a petite Mushroom Troll changeling nestled at her back, and untangled herself from the thick forearms of a Depth Voice Troll changeling.

The Mushroom changeling whined in sleepy protest, and the Depth Voice draped his wing over her, rumbling reassurance.

Gingerly, Eloise picked her way through a minefield of snoring changelings, closing in on the Master of Ceremonies.

The High Priest was asleep; his quilled tail curled around a phonograph; clearly and thoroughly exhausted from a long night of pagan pageantry. 

Eloise plucked a pair of suspenders out of a tree and fished a cellphone from the pocket.

"Otto, Wake up. Strickler's calling." She gave the polymorph High Priest a kick.

Otto groaned, pushing his golden stag mask away as he took the phone.

" _Guten Tag_?" He grumbled, shooting Eloise a dirty look as the mercenary flopped down on top of him.  


"Yes, we've just finished the orgion, but why---"

Stricklander explained Archuero's plan, and in an instant Otto was sober.

"You cannot be serious. The Janus Order will not risk---"

Otto scowled as Stricklander repeated himself, along with a few other choice phrases.

Finally, he gave a sullen nod.

"Understood, _mein Königin_."

The polymorph hung up the phone.

Eloise sighed and lifted her head from his chest.

"Get dressed. I'll tell everyone the party's over."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_"Gooooood Evening Arcadia Oaks! It's nine PM and I hope you're all creeping it real on this fine Halloween night. If you aren't, here's some exciting news that might lift your spirits. In collaberation with Polymorf Animatronics; Omni Reach Travel Agency is proud to announce their first annual Trick or Treat with a Creep Sweepstakes! Catch one of their costumed Creeps and be entered to win a fabulous prize, but watch out for the smoky-creep, if he catches you, it's an automatic disqualification! Have a Happy Halloween Arcadia Oaks, and Goooood Creep Hunting!"_

  
"Did you hear!?"

Kelsey Lawrence pumped his arms, rolling forward to catch up with the others.

"Guys, did you hear on the radio? Animatronics!" 

"You sure you don't want us to push you?" One of his friends turned to squint at him behind her Gun Robot mask. 

"No." His voice sank, but only for a minute, "Did you guys hear about the contest? I LIVE for animatronics, I still have that robot I built for---"

"No one cares, Kel. Besides, those contests are always a scam." A skeleton-clad kid scoffed. 

Kelsey sat a bit straighter.

"Maybe, but if we find one, I bet I could tell you what FACS program they're using."

"Kel, read my lips. No. One. Cares. YOU can go look, I'm getting more candy."

With that, the skeleton turned and continued onto the next house. The rest of the group followed and Gun Robot gave Kelsey an apologetic shrug before starting after them. 

"Buttsnacks." Kelsey muttered under his breath. 

The insult made him feel a little better, and he smiled as he maneuvered his wheelchair across an alleyway.

A sudden smell made him pause, strange and almost animal.

He wrinkled his nose and glanced toward the alley.

From the darkness, a glowing pair of red eyes peered back at him. 

Kelsey's breath caught in his throat.

,He pumped his wheels as fast as his arms could carry him, and in less than a minute, he was at the creatures side.

"Caught you!" He shouted, seizing a fistful of greasy black fur.

"Yeah,"

The Depth Voice changeling stepped out from behind the dumpster. 

"You caught me."

Depth voice Trolls (or Voces Tenebris) were considered the most brutal among deep-cave troll species. Bandits and cannibals by nature, their second favorite food were the unattended whelps of overworked Krubera;

Their first choice, of course, was humans.

So it was a bit of a new experience for this particular changeling to have a child happy to see him.

Even more so, when the boy's friends raced to his side, crowding around to pet the changeling's fur and stand on tip toes to stroke his sonar-disk ears.

"That costume is so cool!!!" One of them said, "What kind of material is this?"

"Trade secret," the changeling grunted, "So, we gonna sit around talking or we gonna grab some candy?"

The other kids rushed ahead, electrified at the thought of spending the next hour with a monster escorting their group. 

The Depth Voice changeling started after them, then paused and glanced back when he realized Kelsey was falling behind.

His red eyes flickered once, and then he let out a long suffering sigh.

"Hey, kid. Is that a vampire costume?"

"Yeah." Kelsey blinked up at him, "Why?"

The changeling growled, glancing around to make sure no one was watching.  
Then he reached out and plucked the child from his wheelchair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"There!" 

Steve grabbed the back of Eli's shirt and pointed to a group of Trick-Or-Treater's.

"Those are the kids my cousin went out with!"

Claire scanned the group.

"Do you see him?"

"No, he's not here!" Steve's voice cracked with panic, "We have to find him! He could be lost, or the Gross could've got him, Or-or---"

"Uh, steve?"

Eli tugged on Steve's shirt and pointed.

Steve's fear gave way to amazement as the Depth Troll changeling emerged from behind a building.

Steve and Eli both took a step back, craning their heads to stare up at the monster's bemused expression.

Claire, on the other hand, stepped forward.

"You're with the Janus Order, aren't you."

"I remember you, girl." the changeling growled, "You portaled me onto the ledge of a five-story building!"

"Instead of the middle of the ocean. You're _welcome_."

The human and changeling glared at each other for a while before a small voice cut the tension.

"Hi, Steve! Look! I'm a vampire and he's my thrall!"

From atop the cannibal changeling's shoulders, Kelsey waved down to his cousin. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, come on!" 

Jared Longhannon let out a whine as the bottom tore out of his candy sack. 

"See, Jer? I told you it was too full." Shannon knelt down and began gathering the wayward treats. 

"You should've seen my first bag." Jared grumbled. "Wait, where's my atomic jawbeaker?"

"I think it rolled under that bush. Oooh! nougat!" Shannon snatched a candybar, "Sister Tax!" 

Jared dropped down and began to wriggle his way under a privacy shrub. The branches tugged at his costume, and he pushed his mask up to wipe the sweat from his eyes. 

"There you are!"

With a triumphant grin, Jared reached out to re-claim his jawbreaker; which had rolled to a stop against a black tree-trunk. 

The trunk shifted, and Jared he realized what he mistook for a tangle of roots were actually three, clawed toes. 

"Uh, Shannon?"

A smoking troll carcass emerged from the bush. 

"Shannon!?" Jared squeaked again.

Shannon grabbed Jared's wrist, pulling him into a protective hug.

"Nice costume," She snapped at the beast, "Bet you feel like a real tough guy out here scaring little kids. Well guess what? I'm not afraid of...of..."

Shannon's voice trailed off as the thing opened it's mouth.

Smoke fell from its jaws like rabid foam, and Shannon hugged Jared closer.

She told herself the cracked, snarling face was a mask.

It _had_ to be.

she could see another set of eyes, peering out from behind the red ones. 

A sudden, jaguarine roar shook the night, so loud that it shattered the closest lights.

And then a blur of argentite barreled into the Gross; knocking it back.

As the children screamed, the changeling roared again, her long arms twisting at impossible angles to keep the Gross's snapping jaws away.

The Gross writhed; dismantling its broken body to make itself a smaller target.

The changeling was relentless. She did not let go.

Over and over she rained punishing blows down on the beasts head.

The smoke burned through her hands, and the strikes became weaker, more choppy.

But even then she did not let go.

Only when the Gross backed away from the children did she finally break free.

"You can't have them." She hissed crouching over the Longhannons.

"You can't have them." The changeling repeated, and then, " _I know what you really are._ "

The Gross froze at this proclamation; cocking its head and peering down, as if testing the changeling's confidence.

She met it's gaze, unfaltering.

With a quiet hiss, the Gross drew back and shattered, making it's retreat into a storm drain. 

With a quiet moan, the changeling sank to her knees..

"Shhhhhh---ugar honey iced tea." She wheezed, hugging her burned arms to her chest.

Shannon crept forward.

**_"Mom?"_ **

The changeing lowered her gaze. 

"Hi, sweetie."

Silver was a mongrel changeling, a mashup of Grootslang and Kitlar. Monsterous even for a halfbreed, she'd become very comfortable in Carla Longhannons skin. So comfortable, in fact, that this was the first time in centuries she'd shed her human form.

"Mama, is that really you?" Jared whispered, his eyes wide.

Silver nodded weakly. 

"You look _so cool!!!"_

Her son threw his arms around her neck.

"Mom, that costume is a-maz-ing!" Shannon tugged at one of her mother's antlers. "What is it made of!?" 

"Mom, Mom! Can I wear it next year!?"

"What did you use for the eyes?" Shannon asked, "They're so pretty!"

Silver laughed, a sound that was very close to a sob.

Then, the changeling smiled and hugged her children tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stricklander hung up the phone.

"I've just recieved word from Administrator Silver, The Gross is on Delancey. It's looking for the mirror."

"Then we need to get there first." Jim stated, "Where's the _Inlustris Callis?_ " 

Stricklander didn't respond at first.

Instead, he crossed his arms, hugging himself to hide a shudder.

The _Inlustris Callis_ was the only reason Gunmar let him roam free; The only thing standing between him and spending the rest of his winters rotting in the Darklands.

"I think it would be best if we take the Bridge."

"Are you _serious_ right now?" Jim pointed his sword down the street for emphasis, "The Museum's on the other side of town!" 

"Then we'd best get moving." Stricklander growled.

Archeuro looked like he wanted to speak up, but before he had a chance, the Trollhunter shoved past him.

"You're still trying to hide things from us. Why? Did Gunmar order you ?" Jim demanded.

"Of course not!" Stricklander recoiled, "But I don't---"

The retort cut off as his shoulders hit a wall.

He hadn't realized he was backing away until the Trollhunter had him cornered.

Blinky set his hands on Jim's shoulder, pulling him back with an infuriatingly placid tone.

"Master Jim, if I may?"

The historian turned his attention to Stricklander.

"Strickler, given your background I completely understand your reservations, but we are your friends. We won't make you bargain for your safety."

Stricklander pressed himself more tightly against the concrete, hunching his shoulders.

"Alright," Archuero lifted his palms in placation, "Why don't we all take a step back and---"

"Shut up." Stricklander spat, "I never asked for _your_ help. Memorizing my coffee order doesn't mean you're my friend. I don't even want you here!"

A brief flicker of emotion glinted behind Archeuro's eyes, but he quickly smoothed his expression and stepped back with a shrug. 

"I know you're afraid, Strickler." Blinky reached for the Changeling, "But remember, fear is but the precursor to---"

Stricklander's talons snapped shut around Blinky's wrist, forcing the historian's arm away at a painful angle.

"Don't _patronize_ me, Blinkious." 

The words hissed between wet fangs as Stricklander pushed Blinky back.

" _You_ turned Jim against me! You just _had_ to warn him about the evil impure lurking in the midst! And in the end that's ALL that matters, isn't it? That I'm a changeling! Nevermind that Trollhunters have butchered thousands of my kind or that Aaarrrgghh was once a General in Gunmar's army, it's the _changelings_ that are the enemies, the changeling's that must be hated!"

"Don't talk to him like that!" Jim shoved himself between the two of them. "At least Blinky never lied to me!"

"Oh, no, he never _lied_ to you."

Stricklander grabbed Jim's arm, clutching him hard enough that the Daylight armor gave a warning glow.

"Blinkious never _lied_ to you, and he never stood against Bular to spare your life! He never risked centuries of sleepless nights, decades of planning, everything he's ever worked for! He wouldn't even stand up for you against Draal, and I defied Gunmar!"

_"Let go of me!"_

"Do you have any idea how I degraded myself, The depths I've sunk to keep you safe, The things I've given up!?"

"You used a binding spell on my mother, you almost set Gunmar free!"

"I had no choice!"

"You DID!"

A blaze of blue light knocked Stricklander back, and the tip of Daylight at his throat kept him in place.

"Nothing is ever your fault, is it?" Jim demanded, "Aaarrrgghh died, my mom almost died, but it's all okay because you're sorry, or you didn't really want to do it, Either way you 'had no choice.' You _never_ take responsibility for the people you hurt; and you're not going to! That's why I 'turned against you.' That's why things can't go back to the way they were before. It's not because you're a changeling! It's because you DID have a choice, Strickler."

Jim's voice began to crack.

"But you didn't choose me."

Blinky's hand came to rest on Jim's wrist. 

The historian was saying something in a low tone. Murmured reassurances and words of comfort, but Stricklander couldn't make them out.

Besides, they weren't meant for his ears. So he drew his cloak close and stepped back to give them privacy.

Jim closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting against his mentor. Blinky's arms folded around his shoulders, a fragile shield between the Trollhunter and the weight of the world.

"I'm okay, Blink." Jim murmured, "It's okay. I can do this."

_I can do this._

That phrase again. 

Stricklander had already made his decision, but those words cemented it.

"We have to get back to the school, Young Atlas."

Jim brushed his eyes on the back of his gauntlet.

"But the Gross ran the other way."

"It did," Stricklander said quickly, "Because it was seeking the rest of the mirror. Much like the Killahead bridge; the _Inlustris Callis_ is a gateway to the Darklands. And like the bridge, it must be whole in order to function."

Stricklander pulled out his pen. With a definitive click, he snapped it open.

"Which is why I hid a shard of the mirror in my office."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stricklander had no way of knowing what Claire said to clear the school, but whatever the excuse, it'd worked.

Arcadia Oaks High was deserted.

Jim lead the group down the empty halls, lighting the way with his sword.

Blinky kept protectively to the Trollhunter's left. To his right, Archuero hugged the wall.

And trailing behind them with a pronounced limp; Stricklander.

_Troll, human, and changeling._

He felt a sullen sort of gratitude that they gave him the dignity of not waiting up.

_Troll, human, changeling._

Although he was keenly aware of his strained tendons and bruised bones, the Gravesand was working. Stricklander felt no pain.

But the powder offered no reprieve from his racing thoughts.

_Troll, human, changeling._

Like some twisted Riddle of the Sphynx.

  
What walks as a Troll in the Morning, A Human by Day, and a Changeling at Night?

Why, a filthy _impure_ of course.

Born as trolls, lived as humans, and died when exposed as changelings.

And at the moment Stricklander felt very, _very_ exposed. 

Exposed and old. An old age that was built on graves. The graves of the weak, and the trusting. The graves of less treacherous changelings.

and Trolls.

And Humans.

"Whoa!"

Archuero reached out to steady him as the older changeling collapsed against a wall.

"I'm sorry." Stricklander murmured, "I can't keep going."

"It's okay," Jim hooked an arm around his teacher's waist. "Let's get you to your office."

"Over here, Master Jim."

Blinky held open the door for them.

"Easy, boss. We're almost done." Archeuro said, propping the spymaster up against his neglected piano.

"I'll be fine, help them find the shard." 

Jim and Blinky stepped back as Archuero activated the secret key. With a creak, the office bookshelf began to descend. 

"There's a secret compartment in the floor." Stricklander explained, "You see the Parlock spears on the wall? Push the left one down."

"Got it." The Trollhunter grabbed the spear, pulling until his armor rattled.

"Young Atlas, I said push, not pull. Blinkious, would you kindly?"

"Of course." The historian walked into the room; cracking both sets of knuckles before he seized the spear.

Blinky let out a few unflattering grunts as he struggled.

"Strickler, It isn't budging!"

"Oh, of course." Stricklander slapped his palm to his forehead, "Changeling hands. Archuero?"

Archuero examined Stricklander's face. 

"Do you really want me to help them?"

"I want nothing. I'm giving you an order."

The younger changeling hesitated, but only for a moment.

With a sigh, he joined the other two.

"Mr. Strickler, are you sure it's the left spear?" Jim asked as Stricklander lifted the keyboard cover.

Instead of answering, the changeling rose to his feet. 

And with a quiet apology in his eyes, Stricklander pressed down on three keys.

A low tritone billowed into the room and was quickly blotted out by the clash of rattling metal.

A wall of iron bars exploded from the floor, connecting with the ceiling in a burst of powdered stone.

"Hey!" The Trollhunter threw himself against the newly formed wall; Blinky followed close behind.

"What is the meaning of this!?" The historian shouted. 

"I've triggered a silent alarm." Stricklander explained, "Someone from the Janus Order should be here to let you out in an hour or two. Which gives me just enough time to finish this."

The color drained from Jim's face.

"Oh, no." Jim said, "No!"

The Trollhunter clutched the bars in both hands, crushing himself against them as if he could will his way through the iron.

"Strickler, don't! You can't go it alone!"

"This is my choice, Jim."

"No, you're too hurt to fight! You don't want this, you want to live!"

"I do, but not at your expense, not any longer. Jim, I meant what I said under the Grit Shaka. It's time for me to prove it. "

Stricklander turned to leave on that note. With a confident tone and steady stride, the sort of one-liner exit befitting a tragic hero. 

But Jim was desperate, and thin, and he managed to push his arm through the bars.

At least enough to grab Stricklander's hand.

The changeling's breath caught in his throat. 

The Trollhunter's fingers were cold, and unsteady around his talons, but Stricklander knew from experience just how capable those hands were.

More capable than they should ever have been forced to be.

Stricklander sighed, and then he turned.

"Make no mistake, I plan on coming back. But if I don't, tell your mother..."

He faltered.

"Tell her the truth, Jim. About your Trollhunting, about me, tell her _everything_." 

"No, Strickler," Jim tightened his grip, "Please, we'll tell her together, _please_."

"Good Luck, Young Atlas."

The Trollhunter was strong, but he was still human, and not even Atlas could hold on forever.

And so even as the Trollhunter shouted his name, even as he begged him to reconsider, Stricklander slipped free.

And then he turned, and started making his painful way toward the _Inlustris Callis_.

And Gunmar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was said that even death could not free a troll from the Darklands.

Such things were whispered in lowered voices while frozen soldiers hunched over sputtering cookfires. The imprisoned Gumm-Gumms spoke of spectral thralls appearing before a lost soldie, only to beckon him off the edge of the nearest cliff. Some said on the coldest nights, you could hear the felled call out to the living; a thousand lost voices rising and falling in time with the wind. 

Gunmar the Black did not believe in ghost stories. 

As far as he was concerned, the dead were food; meat and gristle to be slurped down a parched throat. There was no reverence to be found in bones; they held no memories, no worth beyond their ability to strike fear as building materials. 

Gunmar did not believe in ghosts.

Not even when the wind began whispering his name. 

The Dark Underlord jolted. His lone eye flared in its black socket, as dim as a candleflame at the end of a coal mine. 

He clutched at the bedding to his left, reflexively combing his claws through the furs to locate the spindly shape that usually slept beside him. 

The bedfurs were cold.

Gunmar plucked absently at one of the worn blankets, rumbling to himself at the faint trace of changeling scent.

Satisfied that the bed was empty, The Gumm-Gumm king pushed himself to his feet without fear of crushing his mate. 

As soon as he stepped forward he began to shudder; the piercing wind sapping his strength along with the lingering warmth of his bedding. 

Once more the voice called to him, rising with the wind that ran fingers of ice through his mane.

_**"...Father..."** _

Not his name, after all. No, not his name, but a word embedded just as deeply into his soul, a word that commanded his attention.  
Especially when it came from that lowered, rasping voice...

"Son?"

Gunmar paused to lean against a pillar of stone.

A broken claw braced itself against his throne, propping up an armored shoulder and a pair of mismatched horns.

In the dull light of the dying heartstone, The Skullcrusher's heir dropped down to kneel.

"Bular, I thought you were dead." Gunmar took a lurching step forward, "How can this be?"

Bular's dull, red eyes flickered toward Gunmar's for a moment, then they drifted closed.

"I spoke to the Pale Lady, she told me---"

Gunmar stopped.

"Of course." his black lips split into a pitted grin. " _Of course_ , her words make sense now. My son, I've missed you so."

Bular stepped toward him, extending a sun-scarred claw. 

**_"...missed...you...so..."_ **

Gunmar saw them then. The gash in Bular's chest, the cracks in his limbs, the sun-scarring. 

With a small, consoling rumble; the Gumm-Gumm King reached for the outstretched hand of his wounded heir.

Stricklander stood frozen.

By the ice in his veins, by indecision, by the very nature of what he was.

How many changelings had lost their lives to Gunmar's hungers? How many more would fall if Stricklander spoke out?

Gunmar gave the order to reveal him to Jim. Gunmar used the Trollhunter to force him into accepting the soulmate spell.

Gunmar was the author of _so much of his suffering_ \--

And yet...

Could he really just stand in the shadows and watch his King's death? 

It'd been easy, so pitifully easy to turn his back and run when Bular needed him. 

Could he bring himself to do the same to his _(Husband, his mind whispered, unbidden.)_

Husband.

In the grand scheme of things, did two years of marriage hold _any weight at all_ when measured again centuries of oppression?

"I've missed you so." Gunmar murmured to the ravenous thing wearing his son's skin.

Stricklander saw the Gross smile with it's too many teeth, saw the smoke begin to leak from the cracks it tried to conceal. 

He saw the Gross lift its arms,like a child asking to be held.

And as he watched, Gunmar the black stepped forward to embrace his son.

Stricklander opened his mouth to shout a warning. He extended his hand, as if his upturned palm could halt Gunmar in his tracks.

But the warning died as a dry croak.

And Gunmar was too far away for him to reach.

He tried again.

But this time, his cry was drowned by a younger voice; clear and strong.

**"GUNMAR, STOP!!!"**

The Warlord recoiled, turning just in time to see the Eclipse blade flying toward his face.

The Trollhunter's sword skimmed his cheek, leaving a cut as it embedded itself in the back of his throne.

  
The Gross hissed, drawing back from the blade that had been planted firmly between it and it's meal. 

In the doorway to the crucible stood the Trollhunter; exhausted and heaving as if he'd just run a marathon. 

Behind him, a pair of Gumm-gumm guards dropped limply to the ground. Archeuro jogged to the Trollhunter's side and retrieved his poisoned arrows from their backs.

Blinky followed close behind; dragging his half-conscious older brother. 

"Trollhunter." The word rasped from Gunmar's lips like a curse.

"That thing isn't Bular! You need to get away!" 

The Gross began to growl. Pebbles and bits of petrified trollflesh fell to the ground.

And then it roared, a dissonant cacophony of stolen screams.

Bular's battle cry, his bellows, his dying howl, all overlapping into a single, profane sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Darklands. 

Denied its prey for the last time; the Gross abandoned all pretense of being a proper living thing. 

The crumbling muscles in Bular's chest split apart, the pectorals sloughing to the side to expose the bones beneath.

The Gross jerked and twitched as it snapped Bular's ribs; the jagged bones shifting to frame his back like spikes.

His knuckles popped, the stone between his fingers falling away to add metacarpel length to the piercing range of his claws. 

Half of Bular's face plopped to the ground, the stone falling from his skull so that the glowing white eye of the Antremonstrum could see more clearly through the socket.

Every fragment of ruined organ, each pebble of viscera, all of them poured out from his ruined chest, the powdered entrails shifting and reforming to pad the the thing lurking under Bular's skin.

The Gross shook itself and stretched, as if testing it's new limbs and defenses.

 _ **"...Trollhunter..."**_ It said in a perfect mimicry of Gunmar's voice.

And then it charged.

Jim reacted quickly.

He thrust his hand out; the Eclipse Blade returning to him in a flash of red.

The Trollhunter swung his blade, catching Bular's claws as they plummeted toward his face.

The Gross swiped at his midsection and Jim leaped back. He spun and slashed; deflecting the monsters strikes and retaliating with several of his own.

Gunmar stood desolate; shuddering as if he could feel every blow that landed on his infernal offspring.

A narrow hand came to rest against his cheek.

And then the Warlord was coaxed to all fours, a warm body pressing itself to his face.

"Don't look," Stricklander murmured, blocking as much as he could with his narrow chest. "Bular's not in there. "

Stricklander gripped Gunmar's head between his palms, stepping back to look him in the eye.

"Listen to me; you need to get to the Nursery, the wards will protect you."

"Protect _me_?"

Stricklander glanced away from Gunmar, willing himself not to run to the Trollhunter's side.

"That creature wants you dead. I know how to destroy it, but I can't fight until I know you're safe.

"Safe." Gunmar repeated, as if the word held no meaning.

The Gross struck again, and Jim ducked down; landing a decisive blow.

The Eclipse Blade sank through Bular's waist, piercing the Gross inside.

The beast fell, screaming in it's stolen voice.

Gunmar's eye dimmed, his ancient jaw began working up and down, as if chewing something.

Stricklander recognized that look. 

He tried to grab his mate's arm, to pull him back, but Gunmar was in no state to listen to reason. 

The warlord shoved his queen away and charged toward the sound of his son's cries.

Jim yanked his sword; trying to wrench it free from the bisected carcass.

He grit his teeth in exertion, pushing his strained limbs further.

Just as it began to wriggle loose, he caught a glimpse of Gunmar's reflection in the Eclipse blade.

And Decimaar, swinging straight for his neck.

Jim spun around; summoning his boomerang glaives a second before the Skullcrusher could take his head.

"Master Jim!" Blinky shouted, turning to rush to his pupil's aide.

Two hands locked around his ankles. sending the historian tumbling down the stairs to the Crucible.

Dictatious shoved himself to his feet and stumbled after him.

One arm hung burnt and lifeless at the advisor's side, and he let out a soft sound of pain as he crouched down to pin his brother's limbs behind his back.

Stricklander groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows.

Across the crucible, he could see Jim staggering beneath the weight of Gunmar's rage.

Over and over again, the grieving King brought down his blade in a barrage of mindless fury.

The Trollhunter deflected, using his glaives to re-direct Decimaar's aim.

The Rune's on Gumar's arm wept, a sickly blue light seeping from them like fog.

The Warlord's focus was wavering. 

But so was the Trollhunter. 

Jim stumbled back. 

He shifted his foot to brace himself; a move he'd done a thousand times.

But on the thousand and first time his ankle twisted.

He fell, hands shooting out to try and catch himself.

Stricklander heard the crack of his wrist against the cold ground.

Gunmar snarled, abandoning Decimaar in favor of a discarded parlock spear.

Jim rolled onto his back; his arm clutched to his chest as Gunmar advanced.

The Warlord drew back his spear.

"Look at me, Trollhunter." Gunmar rasped.

The Trollhunter's eyes widened, then squeezed shut.

He turned his face away as Gunmar brought the Parlock Spear down.

It was a killing blow, and the Warlord's aim was true.

The barbed spear punched through stone skin, splintering ribs and impaling organ and muscle. 

The Trollhunter cried out as hot blood splashed the front of his armor. He thought of his mother and waited to die.

Jim took a breath, and then a second.

On the third, he opened his eyes and found himself staring into the stricken face of his changeling teacher.

"No," Jim whispered, "No, no! NO!"

"Stricklander." Gunmar staggered back, his lone pupil a pinprick of disbelief.

Stricklander lifted a quivering hand, clutching at the barb that sprouted beneath his breast.

He fell back onto his haunches, swallowing to try and clear the blood from his throat. 

"Archeuro," he said just above a whisper, "Get him out of here."

Archuero stepped toward Stricklander with hands outstretched. For a moment, it looked like he might disobey.

"Take Jim through the mirror. Take him NOW." 

Stricklander's voice rose, and this time the younger changeling obeyed.

Jim tried to fight as Archuero lifted him into a fireman's carry, he tried to fling himself away, reaching toward his teacher.

But Archuero had become very good at following orders.

And without looking back, he carried the Trollhunter through the looking glass.

Then, and only then, did Stricklander allow himself to breathe.

His heart had finally stopped racing, and the faltering rhythm was almost soothing.

Stricklander placed his palms against the ground, and lowered himself.

"Sire, the bridge! The Trollhunter left it unguarded!" 

From somewhere far away, he could hear Dictatious shouting, but whatever it was didn't seemed important.

The cold stone felt soothing beneath his cheek, and Stricklander decided then and there that this would be the perfect place to sleep until the pain stopped.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the Gross stirring. 

It shakily gathered what little remained of its disguise, and began to drag itself toward him on Bular's elbows.

This made perfect sense to Stricklander. The Gross was half Antramonstrum, after all.

If it wanted to survive, it would need a new shell. 

He didn't flinch as the thing reached him. Not even when the beast emerged from Bular's mouth and began to creep toward him.

Stricklander did, however, listen to a small voice in the back of his head, advising him to hold his breath.

The Gross was a delicate looking thing; a long-limbed creature of red smoke and water, almost beautiful, if it weren't for the needle-like teeth.

And the cold intelligence in it's hate-filled eyes.

Stricklander groaned as the creature began to crush his chest, forcing the air from his punctured lungs.

He considered resisting, but the truth of it was that he'd spent his _entire life_ resisting something or the other. Right now, holding his breath didn't seem nearly as important as rest. 

So he opened his mouth, and allowed the Gross to fill his lungs.

Absently, Stricklander noticed the smell burning meat. He felt a brief flare of pity for whoever was in charge of the cookfire's that night.

_How long had it taken Addergoole to die?_

Stricklander grimaced. He could feel the Gross squirming in his chest, and he really wished it would finish what it was doing so he could finally get some sleep.

Suddenly the creature turned from fire to ice.

Then it rapidly began to retreat, forcing itself back up and out as the welcoming stone gave way to hostile flesh.

The Gross clutched at the ground with smoking hands, dragging itself away from the now human changeling. It flowed forward, desperate for any troll remnants to conceal itself.

A heavy blue hoof came down in front of it; blocking the creature from what little remained of Bular's carcass.

The Gross looked up.

_"...faaaaatheeeer..."_

Gunmar brought Decimaar down; stabbing the tip through the Gross's skull and twisting until the thing stopped twitching.

As the gaggle-tack slipped from his fingers, Gunmar the Black dropped to his knees beside the small, pale shape of his soulmate.

Strickler opened his eyes.

He couldn't sleep. Somewhere far away, someone was playing a drum.

It wasn't like any war-march he'd ever heard, a two-beat song that seemed to repeat at even intervals.

Stranger still, that the music seemed to coming from inside his head, Painfully loud, drowning out whatever it was that Gunmar was trying to say.

In spite of the pain and the too-loud war march, Strickler smiled to himself.

Jim was safe. Jim was safe, and Gunmar was alive, and he'd finally done the right thing. 

The changeling closed his eyes.

Finally, the drum had stopped.

Strickler welcomed the silence. And with a quiet sigh, he finally fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I plan on updating this fic every other wednesday. The more comments I get, the more likely I'll have the inspiration to finish it. If you have a changeling OC with a named familiar you'd like featured in this series, then send me a message over on https://daylightisminetoconsume.tumblr.com/


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